


The Diary of Aefre of the Wold

by zeesmuse



Series: The Rohirric Cycle [3]
Category: Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-05-23
Updated: 2016-01-05
Packaged: 2017-11-05 20:42:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 35
Words: 40,125
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/410819
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zeesmuse/pseuds/zeesmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After a long and fruitful marriage, Gamling and Aefre have gone on to the Halls of their Fathers, leaving their children locked in their private chambers to divvy up the family estate. What they find, however, is more precious than mithril.</p>
<p>Based on 100 Gen Fics and 100 Dark fics, mostly shorts averaging 1000 words and ratings ranging from G to Mature.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

Title: The Diary  
Series: The Rohirric Series

Author: Zeedrippyvessel   
Fandom: LOTR  
Characters: Gamling/OFC; Éomer/Lothiriel, various Ocs   
Rating: R   
Disclaimer: I am not Tolkien. Really. I’m not. I do things to his characters that he would have never dreamed of and might be rolling over in his grave even thinking about. I’m not making a dime. No money, no suey.  
Timeline: From the War on  
Setting: Rohan. Mostly in the Wold  
Warnings: 200+ vignettes depicting family life and a Rider dealing with his PTSD  
Spoilers: No  
Beta: Alex  
Dedication: I just wanted to prove I could write a drabble  
Author's Notes: When I finished Rider of the Mark, I felt empty… I mean it was worse than empty nest, I think – I’ve come to enjoy the characters, but I like full circles. Oftentimes when reading a really engrossing book or series, I wonder to myself… well? What happened after they lived happily ever after?

100 gen Fics comes from a LJ blog prompts. All of these are in the Rider Universe – which would include Love! Rohirrim Style. I snatched it from someone, I forget who. LOL! There are 100 Dark Fic prompts as well, but seeing some of the prompts, I don’t know if I can actually stomach to do them, even in dreams – and that would be a LOT of dreams. I suspect there are perhaps an installment or two that will be considered VERY dark. So maybe these will help Rider come full circle – at least for me.

The majority of this should be rated General to Teen. Thanks to a rather peculiar reviewer with an even MORE peculiar sense of what ‘mature’ is or ‘canon’ is, I’ve rated the fic as a whole as Mature due to ONE installment. (Well, one so far.) 

Most of these are quite short – from true 100 word drabbles (yes, I can do those.) to 1000 words. A few are longer… some have been posted already as MisAdventures… Spring Fever (G62), The Adventures of Gabaras and Tamrithel (G28) and When I met you (G96) Most are Rider-verse – meaning Gamling and Co… They are NOT in any sort of order – written as the bunny bit me. There are some LRS – Eomer/Lothiriel. I would love to think those two were a love-match, rather than a political marriage. I think a political marriage would be SO un-Tolkien-like…

But that’s me…

 

Summary: After a very long and healthy life together, Gamling and Aefre have ridden on to the Halls of their Fathers. Gamling and Aefre's children lock themselves in their parents room to decide who inherits what. What they find by accident is perhaps one of the most amazing collection of documents, cataloging and spanning several lives and many memories contained within that amazing marriage. Consisting of (hopefully) 200+ vignettes...  
FChet

__

The Diary 

__

Prologue 

”Béma!” The youngest of the siblings stood in front of the fireplace in his parents’ rooms, warming his hands by the flame. “I thought they’d never die!”  
He realized just how that sounded before his sister gasped. He turned around, frantic. “Léoma! I didn’t mean it that way!”

There was a thump on the back of his head. His elder – by seven minutes – brother scowled as he walked by, a mug of honey mead in his hand. “Your way with words has never been much higher than the gutter!” He slung himself in a chair; the one favored by his father and ran his free hand through long, unruly strawberry blond locks. In a move reminiscent of his sire, he slung one leg over the chair arm.

“What I meant was…” the youngest one’s voice drifted off before whispering, “I thought they would live forever.”

“Live forever,” his brother scoffed. “Da was 92 summers. He was still riding his horse this past harvest.” He lifted his mug, toasting the banner of his house, hanging over the fireplace. Their mother always made sure they knew who they were and where they came from. “He wasn’t ill, wasn’t in pain. He lived a long, healthy life and went out laughing.” He took a gulp of his mead. “Béma will it, we should go the same way.”

Both of his siblings nodded. “At least Mama didn’t linger. Had she gone first-“

“Da would have worked his arse off in the stables until he dropped dead!”

There was no sound but the crackling of the fire. The trio had closeted themselves in their parents’ chambers, requesting to not be disturbed until they hammered out the details of the estate. They might get it done in a few hours; it might take a few days. The estate was large, a lot to be decided and they hoped they could finish the task undisturbed. Many assumed they wished to grieve in peace. Both deaths, while anticipated due to the advanced age of Gamling and his wife, still came unexpected and as a shock.

Léoma sat by the table, inspecting the jewelry they removed just before their parents’ joint burial, a single tear running down her face. The Elven betrothal rings they wore always, that lavish gift from Éomer King on their wedding day; Gamling’s hair clasp, made for his grandfather; a rare, pale blue diamond on a mithril chain, that Gamling wore for state and festive occasions. “I still say we should have at least buried them in their rings.”

“Mama always stated very clearly that we should split things equally. Da agreed. That included the rings. The only thing to be buried with them was Da’s battle sword and the knife he gave Mama at their wedding.”

“I think,” the youngest spoke thoughtfully for a change, “that the rings should be passed down through Léoma’s line, you” he nodded to his brother, “should get the hair clasp and the blue diamond.”

“And what for you?”

He grinned, a ghost of Aefre twinkling beneath his dark, close-clipped beard, “Oh, just the farm and the family silver is all. I want to be the next Marshal!” He laughed as his sister smacked him. “I know, I know, Éomer King will decide that.”

“Whoever is not named Marshal,” Gamling’s spit intoned quietly, “should get Mama’s dower house. Whoever is named Marshal will get Woldenfeld.”

“You are assuming either you or I will be made Marshal.”

“Aye.”

The three sat quietly for a time, basking in the memories of their parents. During this time, the middle one looked closely at his siblings. His brother had thick dark hair, similar to their mother’s. In the most recent days, silver threads shot through it, like a sparkling weed sneaking into a bright, well-tended garden. His sister as well, her bright red hair was beginning to lighten, fine lines crinkling at her eyes, whether from too much sun or the fact she just completed her 47th summer; she also grieved harder and more openly. 

Eventually…

“Léoma... look closely at the table next to your chair.”

“What about it?”

The elder of her two brothers slid down in their father’s chair, looking sideways. “There are… hinges?”

Together, the siblings removed everything from the table and looking beneath. “Strange, I never notice that before.”

“When did any of us get to sit in Da’s chair? Much less spend time in here?”

The youngest bowed his head. “Their door was always open to me when it stormed. And when I was sick.” He squatted down on his heels, looking at the hinges closely. “I remember getting sick once in the barn and Da brought me straight up. Had a bath made up for me, peeled me out of my vomited in clothes and bathed me himself. He then put me in one of his old tunics and had me in their bed in no time.”

“He told me stories. Some were funny.”

“Some were scary.”

Both brothers shuddered.

“Mama would always make tea and it made me sleepy and the next morning I felt better.”

“Why did they bother to put a drop bar on their door anyway?”

Léoma was strangely quiet, inspecting her hands. Both brothers looked at her.

The silence was painful, the twins waiting expectantly. “Do you know?”

Léoma looked down, blushing. “When I was… young… I walked in on them.” She turned quite sheepish. “Da was riding Mama hard like a stallion.” She was staring hard into the fireplace. “And she was egging him on!”

“Our parents?”

“Wild, swing from the rafters Dunlending sex?”

All three grimaced. Léoma started to giggle. “The only thing I really remember was the thunder and Mama saying ‘Oh yeah baby, smack that arse!’”

The youngest one hit the floor, rolling with laughter. “Noooooo!” 

“Well,” the one who looked like his father said, “I think I’m scarred for life with that etched in my brain. Let’s see what’s in this table.”

Gently the three of them worked the top until it lifted, showing a generous hidden compartment. In it lay a book and a neat stack of papers, the writing in Aefre’s very neat hand.

“That’s the elf’s book of herbs and medicines that Mama cherished!” 

“What was his name? El… el… Elran?”

“Elrond.” Léoma rolled her eyes. “Lord Elrond of Rivendell.”

“That’s right. I recall when you were not quite at your majority, you were in love with Celeborn!”

“I was not!”

“Were so!”

She leveled her most devastating big sister stare at her youngest brother, which he smirked at. “I was not!”

“Was too.”

Not for the first time, the middle one was in the middle, keeping his younger brother and his older sister from throttling each other. Not for the first time, he thanked Béma he favored his father, not only in looks and temperament, but in build as well, tall and stocky, with muscular shoulders. Once he got his siblings settled and no longer at each other’s throats, he picked up the stack of papers. It was thick, many pages, many hours had gone into the recording of what ever it was she wrote.

“Shall we?”

“I feel like a voyeur!”

“You were the one who walked in on them!”

By now, all three were sitting on the floor in a circle. Léoma began with the top, as of the three, she was the better reader.

“Let’s see…” Léoma started softly, reading the words her mother had written who knew how long ago… 

_It was a night to celebrate. A night to sing, a night to toast life, a night to toast death…_

 

_tbc_


	2. GF 01 - Beginnings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aefre's Point of View the night she met Gamling in the baths...

_**The Diary**_

_**G01 – Beginning**_

_**Timeline – RotM: chapter 01**_

_***It was a night to celebrate. A night to sing, a night to toast life, a night to toast death._

_But mostly, a night to celebrate._

_However, I spent it in the baths and I have come to the conclusion that the red-headed captain with the quiet smile is a royal arse!***_

 

Aefre straightened up; this was the third bath she’d assisted in, the fifth tub she had cleaned out. Oh, if Eadlyn could see her now, how she would crow at how far her sister-in-law had fallen. Lufian would be furious to see what his bride of almost fifteen summers was doing with her life, doing to survive.

Furious indeed.

The noblewoman shook her head ruefully. It didn’t matter. What was past was past and she had to create a new life. Her holdings were gone, forcibly taken by Lufian’s cousin; a cousin she didn’t know about. Eadlyn didn’t want her around; Béma forbid the servants would come to her for anything. There wasn’t a lot of love lost between the two women, but she never thought she’d be cast out of her own home…

The state of her grandmother’s small homestead was appalling. 

For not the first time that evening, she watched a young maiden leave arm in arm with a freshly bathed Rider. Many who came to help in the baths were finding beds to warm, hoping for more. Hoping to find someone before Rohan was called to war.

And they _would_ be called. And they would go because the treaties said they must. The Rohirrim didn’t have much, but they had honor and pride and plenty of it to spare.

Willan came by with several buckets of water. The fires in the back were going full blast, giving the bathhouse a steamy, heated atmosphere, hiding the fact it was cold outside. Sweat ran down his back, his tunic sticking to massive shoulders. Not realizing it, Aefre wiped her brow of moisture as well.

The main door squeaked and she watched a well-known Horselord enter. He carried his pack and went into the furthest stall, not noticing anything around him, much less the workers. She recognized him however; the Captain of Théoden’s guard, the King’s army. A military advisor. He was ruggedly handsome, powerfully built, not young; more or less of an age with her. A quiet man, who ran the barns and his éored with a ruthless hand. He was respected, feared. 

He wasn’t married, but he didn’t seem to spend a lot of time at the Blue Whale or the Frisky Shield Maiden and he spent most nights rolled in his cloak in front of the Main Hall fireplace. She overheard him tell someone it was more comfortable and quieter than the barracks, where so many snored and passed wind all night. He had a gentle, loving hand with his horse, an ill-tempered brute, who put his Rider through his paces. She remembered advice from her grandmother years ago, when she was twelve summers old…

_‘You watch how he treats his horse. If a Rider is unkind to his horse, he’s not worth having!’_

So this Captain was a puzzle.

Aefre missed the old woman. She grabbed the water buckets, filling them up with hot water, taking them to his stall. She slid between the curtain, to see the man contemplating the bath and scratching his beard. She really didn’t have time for this. She inhaled.

“Are you going to get in or not? I’ve got better things to do than to wait for a man who is scared of the water!”

~~~…~~~ 

Léoma began to sift through the pages in her fingers. “Wait…. This isn’t right…”

“What?”

She set the stack down and spread them like a deck of cards. “They’re out of order! It’s like they were dropped and Mama didn’t put them back, just scooped them up…” She leaned backwards, contemplating the mess now before her. “Not putting it back in order was so unlike her.” She shook her head. “So unlike her…”

She picked up the next page…


	3. GF 002 - Middles

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The middle child feels... in the middle.

****

002 – Middles 

****

Rider of the Mark. 

****

Time-line: 6 summers after chapter 47 

_*** Our eldest son is so quiet. I worry about him, but Gamling says he’ll be just fine. I hope so. His brother is a wild thing and always into something and his sister… well… Léoma is Léoma! ***_

 

 _‘It was no fun,’_ he thought to himself, _‘being in the middle.’_

She was the first-born, let everyone know it, every single, wretched moment of the day. 

And night, if she were up. 

His brother was the baby. Only by seven minutes, but he was still coddled and fussed over. Then again, his brother was the wilder of the two, always falling into something, the daredevil, swinging from branches and jumping into the river and getting scratched up and scrapped up. 

But he knew a secret. His wild brother was terrified of storms and would jump into his bed the moment the thunder rolled. He let him, protected him, and whispered it would be all right. It was only thunder, after all. Béma was riding his Great Steed across the sky of the Riddermark. That’s all. 

But Léoma was fussing because she wanted a real sword and ride The Big Horse and his brother was being fussed over because he jumped from the swing in the barn to demonstrate he could do it and as a result, he proved he could get a sprained ankle in the process.

So the middle one stayed to the side and watched the comings and goings and back and forth and every one pretty much ignored him. He hated being the middle one.

There was a tap on his shoulder. He looked up up up into the bemused eyes of his Da. “Feeling left out?”

He shrugged.

Gamling pursed his lips. “Feeling invisible?”

This quiet middle child, who Aelwydd said was Gamling’s guts, smirked and nodded yes.

Gamling smiled and took him by the hand. “You’re not. Don’t ever think you are.” Still holding his son’s hand, he squatted on his heels. “Let’s go to the kitchen and pinch some apple tarts and then we’ll go to the barn and you can see what happens to good boys who don’t jump from outrageous heights from the swing!”

Ten minutes later, Gamling was tearing across the Wold on his war stallion, his five summers old son laughing in his lap.


	4. DF 16 - Evil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pelannor Fields - Eowyn's POV
> 
> Rated pg 13 for blood and guts

****

The Diary 

****

DF 16 – Evil 

****

RotM – before Éowyn’s marriage 

_Pg13 – for blood and guts._

_*** Éowyn bears more scars than anyone can see. I was helping her with her trousseau today and after listening to her talk about Pelennor Fields, I truly believe the only thing she wants to remember about the entire ordeal is that she met Faramir.***_

 

The sky was black.

It was black with noise and dust and those… things… the wraiths were riding. Despite being blinded by sweat in my eyes and the flying grime swirling in eddies around me, I could sense the sudden pall in the air.

All around me I see death; not the glorious thing the warriors sing about, but vile and gut wrenching. Pieces of orc, men… steed. Béma! The blood, the stench of it, I simply want to retch and puke my guts. I have lost my horse, lost Merry, killed two orcs on foot.

From the corner of my eye, I see something flying through the air; not the dark winged monsters, but something light. To my horror I realize it is my uncle’s stallion. I thrust my sword to the right, felling yet another foul creature from Mordor and rush to where Snowmane and my uncle lay. I arrive in time to hear the wraith tell his beast to feast.

Not if I can stop him! I thrust myself between the two and immediately feel the weight of the air. Both Black Rider and vile steed consume the very heavens with their combined evil, their united malevolence, _“You will not touch him!”_ Where is my strength coming from? How will I do this?

In an unbelievable fury, using the very parries my brother taught me, I beheaded the contemptible beast and its head lies at my feet. I am splattered in its blood and I can taste it, wretched metallic grit in the air, leaving its rider in the middle of its death throes.

The Witch King turns to me, every ounce of wickedness now directed solely at me. I should be terrified. I am terrified! It dawns on me should I survive this encounter, I will need use of the latrine.

He speaks. “Do you not know that no man shall kill me?” 

At that point, I smile. I have won. I take off my helmet…


	5. GF 28 - Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Children
> 
> Summary: Language is no barrier to friendship when we are children.
> 
> Rated G

The Adventures of Gaberas and Tamtheril

By ZeeDrippyVessel

A Rider of the Mark MisAdventure. Rated G.

Disclaimer: It’s not mine. No money, no sue-y! No chopsticks either. All hail the great JRR Tolkien.

Written for the Haldir Lovers vs some slash group Elfling challenge. We have Elflings, yes we do! We have Elflings, how ‘bout you???

Summary: Language is no barrier to friendship when we are children.

Gen Fic Prompts. 28. Children

TimeLine – RotM – chapters 34 - 36

~*~ 

****

The Adventures of Gaberas and Tamtheril 

~*~ 

_***The Elves came today… Aragorn’s bride and wouldn’t you know, Gamling thought someone had invited them to our wedding tomorrow! Such a man! I have not seen so many people of so many cultures in all my years! Elves! Gondorians! Eowyn’s lover, Faramir. I do not know if the serving girls are swooning over him or over the Elves! And the Swan Guard of Dol Amroth! Their princess has been making eyes at Éomer King and I believe he returns her gazes. She is quite pretty and not a dullard! It is amusing to watch. Almost as amusing as the two little ones who ran amuck during the feast this evening…***_

 

Edoras was a busy, noisy place. Big horses, lots of very tall, strange people.

Big horses didn’t bother Gaberas, she was Rohirrim. She was used to big horses and tall people.

But not strange people or strange people with pointed ears. Gaberas took a bite of the sticky pastry she had snuck from the kitchen. Strange people frightened her, worried her young, three summers mind. She wanted to go home, yearned for her peaceful farm. She missed her pony, the one she wasn’t allowed to ride yet, unless someone was with her. She wondered, for a flickering moment, if Hefig was giving her pony her feed and carrots and making sure she had enough water.

And walking her. And taking care of her hooves.

If Hefig wasn’t taking care of her, Gaberas would give him a good swift kick in th-

“Well, hello, little one.”

Gaberas was jerked out of her musings, to stare up into the eyes of the onliest not tall strange person in Methuseld. She was a pretty lady, didn’t have the funny ears, and she was smiling and bending down. “Aren’t you the sweetest thing. I’m Lothiriel. Do you have a name?”

Gaberas couldn’t understand a word. The woman wasn’t speaking Rohirrim. She scrunched up her face in consternation.

The pretty lady smiled again. “Oh dear, when will I learn. I don’t speak Rohirrim. You don’t understand.” The pretty lady pointed to herself. “Lothiriel. Lothiriel.” She smiled and pointed at Gaberas. 

OH! 

“Gaberas!” With the generosity of one fresh from toddlerhood (she also wanted the pretty lady Loth-ee-ree-el to like her and had learned that bribery got one many places) she thrust out the half-eaten pastry. “Bite?”

Lothiriel took a startled step back as the child stuck out a gooey, sticky hand, covered with a mishmash of what appeared to once have been an apple tart. “Ah, thank you, but-”

“GABERAS!” Instinctively, the child thrust her hand behind her, knowing this would be a losing battle. She gave her mother her most innocent look. 

Sulis was exhausted. Between the long trip to Edoras for her brother Gamling’s wedding, the preparations, worrying for her husband, still injured in Gondor and then the sudden and unplanned arrival of Rohan’s new king accompanied by the Elves of Rivendell, her temper was short. It was not helped when she looked to see her youngest child handing a disgusting glob of goo to a member of nobility.

And a total stranger.

“Go wash your hands, young lady! What were you thinking?” Her mother turned quickly enough to cause a breeze with her skirts. “I am so sorry!” Sulis addressed the stranger in olde formal Westron. “She knows no strangers and will offer anything.” The Rohirrim woman attempted to inspect the lady closer. “Did she get any of that on you?”

Lothiriel raised her hands in supplication. “No. Really, it’s fine. I approached her-”

Gaberas backed up while her mother’s attention was temporarily distracted. Too easily, she was lost in the crowd of dust covered traveling clothes and chain mail. She skirted around her uncle Gamling, was deep in conversation with a tall, blonde man with a funny ponytail on his helmet, absent-mindedly patted her on the head.

_Soooo many people…_

Twice, she was almost stepped on by soldiers in garish turquoise and once by a serving girl. The serving girl snapped at her and Gaberas made a rude hand gesture when the girl’s back was turned.

She heard giggling.

In a motion reminiscent of her mother, Gaberas spun around, making her oh-so-not-grown-up short skirt twirl. 

She looked straight into grey eyes her height. 

The grey eyes had beautifully combed long moonlit hair and pointy ears. 

And a big smile. 

With tiny straight teeth that were still giggling! Gaberas thrust her tiny fist (the one not holding the very sweaty pastry) on her waist.

“What’s funny?”

The giggler pointed to the serving girl and made the same rude gesture. Gaberas’ fist went to her mouth. “OOOH! What you say!”

The two younglings stood for a moment looking at each other. Gaberas eventually remembered her manners. She thrust out one hand.

The one covered with mangled pastry.

“Bite?”

A slightly disgusted eyebrow went up and the elfling scrunched her nose. She pointed to a table on the other side of the room. It was piled with fresh pastries, cakes, and other interesting gooey things. The elfling nodded towards the table. “Eas!” 

Gaberas shrugged good-naturedly. Both Elfling and Shield Toddler ambled over to the long table.

The goodies were piled high, as high as a mountain in the eyes of ones so small. Gaberas realized that they couldn’t reach the table from far off, and they couldn’t see over the table up close, not to mention her hand was full of something she forgot what it had been. 

“Yrch!” Gaberas looked up from her hand to see the Elfling had reached up to grab whatever was above her head. Apparently, she didn’t like what she had blindly snatched. With a snarl, the pointy- eared rascal put it back up on the table and began to pat for something else.

She didn’t like that one either. Back it went. 

The third one looked tasty, but after taking a bite, the blonde made several disgusting faces and the pastry, minus a bite went back up on the table.

Gaberas made a rather sorrowful face and slowly placed her melted, ruined pastry on the table. She then decided the little Rivendell Elfling needed some help. Four or five bitten into and discarded pastries later, the twosome found honey cakes to their liking and wandered from the busy, noisy Great Hall…

And into a long, quiet hallway. Both contemplated the length while licking the last of the honey cake crumbs from their fingers.

They found a linen closet with bright, snowy sheets, perfect to play ghosties and grand ladies with. 

They also made a nice pile to roll in, in addition to wiping pastry glob from their hands.

Hearing voices, they hid in the closet and waited for the chambermaids to go by. When they peered out, they saw the door of the room the maids were working in had been left open. Racing across the hall, they sped in.

The room was large, great Rohirrim wall hangings on the wall and a large window, with the shutters thrown open, letting in sunlight and the smell of hay and sunshine. 

It was Gaberas’ Uncle Gamling’s room. He had the biggest bed that Gaberas had ever seen with the largest mattress ever! It made noises when you crawled across it and with equally mischievous smiles, the twosome raced to the bed. Finding the step stool, they climbed up and commenced to jumping.

At some point, they realized that clothing was stacked on chairs and climbing off the bed in order to explore, Gaberas clothed herself in a long, blue gown, her friend wearing a tunic much too big for herself.

Childish giggles floated down the hall.

They climbed back on the bed, decked out in their new finery and commenced to jumping again, over-clad arms flapping like mutated butterflies.

More giggling.

Too soon, they were caught. 

“Och! Look what a mess the two of you have made!” The chambermaid was in her middle years, but despite her words, she smiled. “Look at this!” she plucked the dress from over Gaberas’ head, “in your aunt’s wedding gown! She would die a thousands deaths! And you!” she slung the blue silk over one arm and reached for the Elfling, “In Gamling’s wedding tunic!” The tunic went flying over a snickering set of pointed ears. “The Marshall will feed you to his horse!” Both items of clothing went back into the chair, before the woman helped them from the bed. “Obviously, you need a job!” 

“Job!” Gaberas repeated.

“Yob!” her friend parroted.

Very quickly, the twosome found themselves shooed from the room, and heading in the general direction of outside, via the kitchen…

…Where warm sugar dumplings were cooling on a low rack.

As the two scooted from the kitchens into the yard with their hands full of pilfered goodies, the cook bellowed at the stable boy for snitching sugar dumplings from the cooling rack. 

Gaberas wanted to sit somewhere while she finished her sugar dumplings, so she sought out the nearest quiet spot, a beautiful, fragrant spot where plants and flowers were coming up, blooms already abundant in the early spring sun. She sat down in the dust, and set her sweet treats in her lap.

The Elfling stared, head half tilted.

Realizing that she wasn’t being quite well-mannered, Gaberas dusted off the rock next to her. “Here!” she perked. “Sit here.”

The Elfling sat down gently and put her sugar dumplings in her lap as well, sugar leaving granular dust on her leggings. The twosome sat in relative silence, munching away and watching the comings and goings from the quiet side of Methuseld. They watched the butterflies flit, as well as bees graze from blossom to blossom. As she took her last bite, Gaberas remembered she didn’t know the Elfling’s name. She tapped her on the arm and then pointed to herself.

“Gaberas!” She pointed to the Elfling.

The Elfling seemed to ponder for a moment, mouth still full of doughy treats. Gaberas repeated her request. Finally, with a smile, sugar smeared on softer features…

“Tamtheril!”

The little Rohirrim smiled back and wiped her face on her sleeve and remember the ‘job’ the chambermaid had sent them. Looking over, she spied likely flowers and reached to pick them.

~*~

Caarima was deep in conversation with several other elleth, testing their rarely-used Westron with Lothiriel and Eowyn. It seemed there was to be a wedding the next day between a highly favored Horse Lord and his beloved, well-thought-of lady. She realized she had been enmeshed in conversation for quite some time.

“My apologies,” she interrupted. “I seem to be missing my child. Has anyone seen Tamtheril?”

The small group looked around, talking now to a murmur. “Perhaps,” Arwen mused, “Tam is with Nimmarron.”

Caarima scowled, marring perfect features. Tam could find trouble when no one else could. “Perhaps…”

~*~

Cook was NOT pleased.

She caught the twosome picking every blooming herb she had and she chased both from the garden with her broom, using words neither had ever heard of. They both ran through the back of the garden, dropping their pretty flowers and scampered through a hole in the garden wall…

…straight into the chicken coop.

~*~

Finally, the ellon returned from their tour of the city and stables, Caarima looking anxiously through the group. Her husband noticed right away she was wringing her skirt nervously. Threading his way through the crowd, he made his way to her. “Is something wrong?”

“Is Tam with you?”

“No. I thought he was-”

Immediately, she began to hunt. “Oh, Illuvatar, he’s missing…”

~*~

Apparently, Tamtheril had never seen a chicken. The Elfling set up such a screaming fit, the birds flew in all directions, several flying in his face and causing the screaming to escalate. Despite Gaberas’ pleas to cease, the elfling began to run in circles, batting, swatting at the angered poultry. The little Rohirrim was knocked over once and before she could do anything, Tamtheril ran to the fencing, looking for another way out. The cage gate swing open and Tamtheril ran towards the barn, with the majority of the chickens following.

Gaberas stood up in wonderment and dusted herself off before following. “Béma, we in trouble now!”

~*~

Caarima was frantic. Methuseld was a large place, packed with many people, more so than normal, with too many places for a small, mischievous little ellon to hide and cause trouble. 

And Tam could cause trouble! Too many times, Caarima and Nimmarron had been called to Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel’s talan, in order to retrieve their little miscreant. He had been caught jumping on beds, picking flowers from gardens that did not belong to them, stealing sweetcakes and worse…

… defecating in the stream.

~*~

Gaberas finally caught up to Tamtheril behind the barn. The Elfling was jumping up and down, hands high up between already long legs.

“What you jumping about? We gonna be in trouble, you letting the chickens out!”

Tamtheril continued to bounce, holding on tighter.

“Not nice!” Gaberas retorted with her mother’s imperious tone. “Not lady-like!”

A growl emitted from Tamtheril’s throat, bouncing now painful to watch. With another growl, the Elfling made a mad dash into the barn.

“Elves!” Gaberas muttered. “No wunner they live in trees!” She followed the Elfling into the barn, momentarily distracted by the barrel of apples. Growth spurt momentarily overruled the need to detain stupid elfling and she grabbed an apple and headed down the corridor, unconsciously reveling in the odor of the horses. Again, she wondered about her pony and if she was being taken care of properly.

She peered into one stall. A dapple mare with a strange black mark on her rump returned her stare. No Tamtheril.

Across the hallway. Firefoot looked back at her, nonplussed, uninterested and bored. No Tamtheril.

Across again.

~*~

“A little Elfling, about this high?” The chambermaid stood in the hallway, arms full of recently dirtied linens. “Sure did. Caught him and Sulis’ youngest jumping on the Marshal’s bed!” She smiled a big, toothy grin, speaking to Eowyn, but directing herself to the Elven couple. “A right pair, they are. Full of spunk! Check the kitchen or the cook’s garden.” She leaned over with a saucy grin. “I gave them a job. They should have raided the sweets and made a beeline to the garden. You’ll probably find them sitting on a rock, eating pastries!”

~*~

There, in a stall with a rather large, cranky, chestnut stallion, was Tamtheril, standing up, watering the corner of the stall.

“YOU NO GIRL!” Gaberas gasped! “You a boy elf!”

Tamtheril didn’t budge, just sighed in relief. He turned around and attempted to head towards the stall door, tucking himself in. He was stopped by a large, hairy muzzle in his face. 

Dreogan, Gamling’s war stallion, was not a happy horse. He didn’t like strange people in his stall. He wouldn’t let strange people ride him; in fact he barely tolerated his Man riding him and he didn’t necessarily do everything his Man wanted him to do. And now, here was a strange, small person, with weird ears and a weirder smell, doing something odorous in the corner of his stall. He snorted loudly, blowing the strange little person’s hair and stepped towards him.

Tamtheril took a step back and opened his mouth to scream.

“NO YELL!” Gaberas stepped into the stall. “Just Dreogan! Here!” She smacked the stallion on the shoulder. Angrily, the war horse turned to face the little girl. Before he could nudge her on the shoulder, she shoved her apple into his face. “Here, hare-y cree-ten!” Gaberas had spent some time with her soon to be Aunt Aefre and picked up some new vocabulary. 

The apple disappeared and a now mollified war horse took his ill gotten gains to the other side of the stall, ignoring the two children.

~*~

“I caught two scallywags in my garden, picking the blooms from my herbs!” Cook was furious and uncaring that she was lambasting two beloved Elves and their son in the rough, guttural Rohirrim language neither understood. Eowyn was at a total loss, unwilling to completely translate the things the woman was saying. Really, someone should have a talk with her about her lack of decorum. “They high-tailed it through a hole in the fence and turned the chickens loose! I’ve two kitchen boys cleaning up their mess when I need them here! I’ll bet they had something to do with the half eaten pastries on the table!”

Eowyn turned to Tam’s parents. “They’ve gone through the gardens and the chicken coop. Our next stop will be the barns.”

~*~

Gaberas and Tamtheril had settled on a comfortable pile of new hay, with two fresh apples. They peered into the rafters, watching the late afternoon sunbeams dance from beam to beam.

“Cae.” Tamtheril gave a big yawn. Riding for seven hours, after riding for days, and now with a full tummy, the inevitable was catching up fast.

“’K.” Gaberas repeated. “I’m tired. Are you?” The last thing she was aware of, was Dreogan’s wet nuzzle, gently lifting the apple from her hand.

~*~

Eowyn slid quietly into the barn, obviously comfortable in the dusky light. Nickers and whinnies greeted the White Lady of Rohan as she stole into the corridor. She absently scratched Firefoot on the nose – she was convinced the stallion preferred her to her brother, regardless of what he thought. She pointed down one side and watching the Elven couple check stalls on the left, she went down the right.

An out breath of relief was heard moments later from Caarima, but when Nimmarron opened the gate to Dreogan’s stall, he found himself confronted by a very spiteful, very protective mother… stallion, who stuck his apple sauced coated nose rather rudely in Nimmarron’s face and proceeded to back the Elf out of his stall. Nimmarron found himself being gently pulled from the stall.

“Go get Gamling.” Eowyn whispered softly. “Gamling. Ask for Gamling. In the hall.” Nimmarron took off, backtracking the way they came.

Tamtheril and Gaberas were sound asleep on Dreogan’s hay pile, Tam curled on his side, a small fist under his cheek, while Gaberas was sprawled rather inelegantly on her back. The last of the sunbeams were winking slowly out on their small forms.

“Will he hurt my ion?” Caarima whispered.

“No.” Eowyn’s voice was equally lowered. “But he’ll hurt anyone who disturbs them.” She took in the Elleth’s startled look. “Your son is being protected by one of the bravest horses in Rohan.”

It seemed forever, but finally Gamling and several others came into the barn, very loudly and rather jovially. The red headed bridegroom stood in front of his stallion, shaking his leonine head. “Since when did you start babysitting? Move over!” He walked in between the stallion and the children. He motioned Nimmarron into the stall and with a gentleness not many would have believed, scooped up his niece. Waiting for the Elf to retrieve his son, he scratched the horse on the nose. “I see what you’ve been up to! No apples for you during the trip!” He one-handed the gate shut and listened for Eowyn to drop the bar.

Both Gamling and Nimmarron gently shouldered their small burdens back up to Methuseld and Gaberas briefly glimpsed Tamtheril as his father took him down a different hallway. 

Somewhere, she was switched to smaller, more feminine hands and clucked over by a familiar and comforting voice. Day clothes came off, disappointed sounds coming from her mother’s lips, messing up good special day clothes, and a nightdress draped over her head. As Gaberas’ head hit her pillow, she vaguely wondered what mischief she and Tamtheril would get into during the wedding tomorrow.

_*Fini*_

_Cae – resting place  
Yrch – literally, it means ‘orcs’ but I’ve used it in the past for ‘Ick’ or ‘Yuck’… gross, disgusting… etc.  
Ion – Son  
Eas – eat_


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamling and Aefre's boys discover that wrestling comes at a price.

_**The Diary**_

_**GF84 He**_

Rider of the Mark 

8 years after chapter 47

_*Never have I seen that man so angry and a filthy urchin in each hand. And the stench… Béma! When he said they were wrestling in horse manure, I believed it!*_

 

They were best friends. Had been since each one realized he was not alone in the womb. They cradled together and even now at the ripe old age of seven summers, when the rains came and thunder rolled, it wasn’t unusual to catch one in the other’s bed come morning.

They were not identical, to which their mother sighed a sigh of relief. One was the spit of his father; unruly red-tinged, strawberry blonde hair and sky eyes, silent and solemn most days. The other greatly resembled his deceased uncle on his mother’s side. He was the wild child, dark haired and eyed, loud, rambunctious, into everything.

But they were thick as thieves.

They learned to ride their ponies on the same day, each encouraging the other. They ate together, swam together, fished together, bathed together… 

They mucked stalls together, played tricks on Léoma together. She was the enemy, not only a wretched girl, but also their sister. She was bossy, mean, thought she knew everything. And she was older. They put things in her bed, hid her currycomb, filled her bathing vials with horse piss.

Together. Because they were best friends.

Usually.

Except today, they were not best friends. Today one was irritated. He hadn’t cleaned the stall to his father’s perfect standards and was being made to stay late to do it right, as he should have done the first time.

His twin thought it funny. He was going to the pond, to swim. The water was clear and not too terribly cold and _oh isn’t it sad you can’t go because you have to muck your stalls again. Don’t forget the corners._

He was told to shut up.

To which his twin offered up a challenge. _Make me._

It was if someone threw a red cloth at the bull in the pasture; the malicious one with the huge horns, who wouldn’t let you near the pastures, especially when the cows were in season. The pitchfork was thrown over the stable wall barely missing his father’s war stallion and before the brother realized what happened, he was felled by a flying arrow the size of his twin.

They rolled into midway, cheers and jeers from the Riders going up. Somehow, the muck bucket flipped over, shavings and manure falling and cushioning descending bodies. The one on top realized what his sibling was thrashing in and with an evil smile, he scooped up a particularly fresh deposit and smeared it into his wrestling partner’s face. He found himself flipped and likewise soon discovered his hair and the collar of his tunic spread with droppings and bits of hay.

They were yelling at each other, name-calling, using language they wouldn’t want their mother hearing.

The redhead landed a well-placed punch, one that would certainly bruise the other’s cheek and ego. They didn’t notice the cheering and catcalling had come to a complete stop and the only sound now in the barn, was the sound of two young boys, battling it out.

Suddenly, each one was jerked up, held firmly in the grasp of their father.

Gamling was furious. Bad enough, his sons were battling like common guttersnipes, but in the manure pile…

The Rider ordered the water trough filled immediately, before turning his enraged stare upon his twins. He shook both once, before lifting an eyebrow in question.

Both boys pointed at the other.

“HE started it!”

~~~…~~~

Léoma was giggling. “I remember that. I _remember_ that!”

Both brothers were sheepishly smiling at each other. “So do I…”

The one who looked like his father gazed at his sister. “I remember when you made Da equally angry!”

“You do not!” she retorted hotly. “I never made Da angry!”

“Yes, you did!” his twin snapped back. “I was very young, but I … well, I don’t really remember it well, but I remember everyone talking about it!”

“That’s Not True!”

The redhead’s look was mutinous. “It is so true! Da paddled your behind in front of Béma and everyone!” 

If Léoma’s eyes could have bugged from her head, they would have. “That’s a lie- HEY!”

The youngest of the three grabbed the loose notebook from her and began rifling through the documents.

“YOU TURD! You give those to me!” She leaned to seize them back. “You’ll make a mess!”

To keep their sister from snatching them, the middle one leaned over and locked his arms around her, effectively taking her out of the fight. Servants passing the room heard swearing and yelling and shook their heads at how quickly the three had melted down into common rabble. What did the late lord and lady have that could worth so much all three wanted it? They decided to send for the King, who was still visiting the residence. 

“AHA!” The dark headed one snatched a sheet, holding it aloft like a trophy. “FOUND IT!”

“DON’T YOU DARE!”

“MWUHAHAHAHAHA!” He turned it to view it closer and motioned for his brother to continue his vice-like hold on their elder sibling, before intoning solemnly. “Let’s see… _‘Today, that daughter of Gamling’s…’_ See? Daughter of Gamling! You know when they said we belonged to the other, they were mad!”

“Aye and notice she said ‘Gamling’s daughter’ not ‘Aefre’s daughter’!”

“Yes, because Da wasn’t writing it!” He nodded triumphantly! He turned back to the document. “ _‘Today, that daughter of Gamling’s did the most foolish thing!….’_

*** 

tbc


	7. DF 97 - Spank

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Léoma learns her father is a man of his word

__

A Man of his word 

DF 97 Spank/Discipline

Rider - 6 years after the birth of Léoma…  
Rated PG

_*Today, that daughter of Gamling’s did the most foolish thing! While she deserved what she got, I could not help but silently cheer her on. So brave… so hard-headed. So much her father…_

 

Léoma lay on the bed, tears running down hot cheeks. She didn’t know what hurt worse, her feelings, her pride, or her butt, where her beloved Da made good on a promise he made her many times if she ever did what she did. 

She shouldn’t have done it, she knew she shouldn’t have, but she just wanted to show… to prove…

There was a knock at her door.

“GO ‘WAY!”

A scratching…

“I SAID GOWAY!”

There were voices – she recognized both, but they went away and she buried her head under her pillow, her only company, her guilt.

*** 

Dréogan was Gamling’s beloved warhorse – a more cantankerous creature did not live. He was huge for a horse… well, in Léoma’s six summers’ eyes, all horses were huge, but her Da’s horse was the biggest horse ever! 

Alright, Willan’s horse was bigger, but that big loveable klutz was too gentle to count! Dréogan snorted fire and flew like the wind…

Okay, Mama’s horse, Adenydd _was_ faster, but Mama rarely took Léoma riding with her. Not like Da did. And on Dréogan, one KNEW they were riding, you could feel the stride, could feel his muscles bunch up under your legs. Adenydd was like riding a cloud. Certainly NOT like riding a real horse!

Dréogan liked to mow down orcs and Easterlings. He was mean and the Riders were scared of him. Da was not scared of him, talked to him like a big old baby, yes, he did. It was almost embarrassing how her Da sweet-talked that gigantic, irritable, bad-tempered curmudgeon of a horse…

Sometimes, it was good to listen to Mama get angry. One learned the most amazing words…

But Dréogan… Dréogan was the ultimate horse and Léoma was doing so well with her pony, she just knew she could ride him. Just knew it! 

She had been most persistent for some days. “I want to ride the big horse!” she openly declared. “Ponies are for babies and I am not a baby! I am a Shield Maiden!”

“In whose universe?” Her mother snorted.

“Not yet, you aren’t,” Abéodan grunted.

“Shield Maiden? You?” Haleth openly sneered. (Léoma didn’t know who was more disgusting, her younger brothers who ran around terrorizing everyone or Haleth, who thought he knew everything!) 

Her Da walked by at that moment, fury emanating from such a little body. “I am so a Shield Maiden!”

Her father continued on and patted her on the head. “Yes, you will be.” And kept right on talking to his captain as if she had not said anything.

Obviously, she was going to have to prove to everyone, she was a true Shield Maiden of Rohan and the best way to do it was to ride The Big Horse!

She planned her assault rather neatly. Dréogan was a gigantic steed and saddling him would not be easy. His irritable, unreasonable attitude was well known, so she would need to distract him. So earlier that day, she got a bag of apples, a stool and quietly went into the stallion’s stall.

Dréogan looked at her, much as he would a pesky fly. She set the bag of apples in his manger inside the stall and gave him one.

Temporarily distracted, the equine munched away, bits of drooled applesauce making its way into the sawdust. Léoma set the stool next to him. As he finished the first apple, she slid the bridle over his head. “Good boy. You’re a good horse,” she whispered in his ear, like her Da did.

Next was the saddle. This could be a problem. She shoved another apple in the charger’s mouth and then slung the saddle blanket over his back. He was still good with the apple, so up and over went the saddle. She got the back strap knotted properly, gave the stallion another apple and then went to work on the front. The minute she got it cinched, she got another apple.

Even with the stool, she was still too short to climb on, which should have been an indication of things to come, so taking the reins, she took him by the stall door, climbed the gate and swung on over into the saddle.

Dréogan looked at her over his shoulder, distaste clearly seen in those brown eyes. Léoma petted his neck, told him again what a good boy he was and clicked with her tongue, urging him forward. She walked him slowly down the alleyway towards the open door.

Abéodan came in just at that time and jumped back. “Léoma! I don’t think-“

“I am fine,” she answered as haughtily as a six summers old girl-child could answer. 

“Your Da-“

She ignored the Rider and kept riding, chin held high.

She cleared the door.

It was bright day, a sunny day and right now, the world was in the palm of her hand. All sound ceased. She clicked against her teeth again, holding the reins just right and rapped the stallion with her heels. Again, he started at a stately walk, but out of the middle of nowhere, Gamling walked around the corner of the tool shed with Éothain and responded to something the young Captain had said with a whistle.

Dréogan’s ears pricked. He KNEW that sound! That was HIS Horse Lord, HIS Rider, HIS Man and yanking hard to the left, he jerked the reins from the little girl’s hands and charged the Marshal. He slid to a halt, thrusting his nose in Gamling’s face and bucked once, throwing Léoma over his and her father’s head. She landed hard on her backside, barely missing the side of the shed and a pitchfork that had been left sitting out. 

Gamling quickly threw the now dangling reins over the saddle horn, a signal to Dréogan not to move, and rushed to his daughter’s side. He noticed she missed the prongs of the pitchfork by mere finger widths and silently thanked Béma she hadn’t landed on it. She was picking herself up, gasping as her breath was knocked out of her. 

“Da-“ Tears were welling up, a rarity for this child of theirs.

“Are you a-right?” Gamling went down on one knee and turned her, checked her for cuts, bruises, any sign of injury. “You can move? “ His hands ran up and down her legs, her back. “Anything feel hurt or broken?”

“No, I-“

Faster than she could inhale, Léoma found herself thrown over her father’s knee – her father, her hero, her favoritest person in the world – and learned that he was a man of his word.

When he finished, he jerked her upright. “Now. When I tell you not to ride any horse without permission, you will ask me, won’t you!” She nodded yes, bottom lip trembling. “And when I tell you to leave my horse alone, you will, won’t you!” She shook her head again.

“Da! Dada… I’m s-s-s-s-s-orrrrrrrry….”

He nodded angrily towards the Hall. “Go to your room. No supper.”

Léoma’s head hung as low as it could go and she quickly ran off, only to run into her Mother. Big eyes looked up, pleading. Her mother’s face was not so stern today, and her eyes held much pity. “Go on with you.” Aefre said softly, only between her and her daughter. “You’ll get no sympathy from me.”

By the time their daughter reached the doors, her crying was echoing all over the courtyard.

Gamling was standing by the time Aefre reached him. “It must have been bad for you to spank her.”

He jerked his head towards Dréogan, who was still standing motionlessly, as he had been taught. “Your daughter saddled him and rode him out of the barn as if she were born to! Dréogan saw me, charged up and bucked her over my head. She barely missed the pitchfork.” Riders and Riders in training and stable boys were standing around watching the entire exchange, suddenly tried to look busy. Gamling’s face turned into a furious snarl. “WHO LEFT THIS PITCHFORK OUT?”

A young Rider spoke up. “It was me, sir. I was using it and my brother called me to help him get a horse to the blacksmith. I didn’t think-“

“Aye! You didn’t think. Would it have taken you five seconds longer to put it away? Someone almost got killed!”

The Rider knew his punishment before Gamling pronounced it. “I’ll muck and dig down the stalls starting tomorrow, sir. It was my fault and I’m glad your daughter didn’t get hurt.” He took the pitchfork from the furious Marshal, before grinning slightly. “She’s got spit, your daughter.”

Gamling was looking at the sky, contemplating the clouds, but Aefre recognized he was trying to get his anger under control. Her husband was normally a soft-spoken man and his Riders respected him, but they also feared him and his temper, which even when it raged, was welded like a double-edged sword and well-earned. She threaded her arms through his. “No supper, Gamling? Really. And cook made apple tarts and she loves apple tarts.”

He continued to stare at the sky. “I said no dinner. Period.” Aefre’s shoulders fell. One of the first things they decided when Léoma was little was one would always support the other when it came to discipline. Gamling dropped his head and tucking his finger under his wife’s chin, lifted it up so she would look at him. “I didn’t say anything about not having an apple tart!” Aefre smiled at that. Her husband, for all of his bravado, was an old softie when it came to his daughter. “Béma, if anything had happened to her… I’ll go up to her after she’s calmed down.”

“She probably thinks you hate her.”

“I know.” He hugged his wife close. “Had she been thrown even this much to the right…”

“I hate to break up this wedded bliss moment,” Éothain snorted jovially, “but I think the two of you need to see this.” He motioned them over next to Dréogan. The Captain was standing well back from the notoriously irascible mount of his superior. “Check out the saddle.”

Both Gamling and Aefre went to Dréogan’s side, inspecting the cinches and knots. “I’ll be damned,” Gamling whistled low. “She did a good job of it.”

“How in Arda did she manage it?” Aefre whispered. She approached the war stallion slowly. Dréogan tolerated her at best, tolerated her because she was Adenydd’s Rider and Woman. She ran her hand down and around the straps. “They are very tight. Perfect.”

“And here’s how she did it!” Abéodan came out of the barn, carrying the stool and what was left of the bag of apples. “She bribed him all the way to the end.” He handed the bag to Gamling. The Marshal took it, shaking his head.

“Béma wonders how many she fed him. Ah well, it matters little. Abéodan,” Gamling handed the sack to his wife and grabbed the reins, “take Dréogan to the turnstile and put him on it. I doubt she did much damage, but let him walk for an hour or so. Exercise won’t kill him.” Looking up at the barnyard, he raised his voice, putting stable boys and the garrison back to work, leaving Aefre with her musings.

*** 

There was another knock at the door. Léoma’s face was now swollen with tears and she was hiccupping, something she hated. “GOWAY!” The door opened anyway, her mother’s head peeking first before coming completely into the room. The child flung herself back on the bed, her back to her mother. “Lemmelone!”

“Ah, so now you’re giving orders as if your mistress of the house… and me your mother. I suppose I should take the tray of tea and other things back to the cook…”

Léoma’s head lifted over her shoulder. “Other things?” Girlish curiosity got the better of her.

Aefre set the tray down and with an eyeroll at the darkness of the room, went to the window and threw the curtains back. The sun was going down and Léoma’s room caught the best of the late afternoon light. She sat down on the bed and took her daughter’s hands. “Ah, let me look at my girl…” she clucked and shook her head. “Just as I thought… red puffed-up eyes, swollen cheeks… well!” She reached over and poured some tea. “I have just the thing for that! Drink this and then…”

Léoma’s stomach was growling. “And what?” she took the teacup and began to drink.

“And what? Only the best part!” Aefre’s voice was that of a conspirator. “I have cucumber slices for our eyes and that really nasty face paste that feels so good. I think we are both overdue for some girly girl stuff.”

Léoma finished her tea and set the empty cup in her lap. “Da hates me.”

“No, he doesn’t.” Aefre took the teacup from her daughter and handed her the first of several apple slices. “This isn’t dinner. It’s just an apple.” While her daughter ate absent-mindedly, Aefre brushed the wild locks from her daughter’s face and put it in a clasp. She then picked up the jar and proceeded to daub a cool paste on her cheeks. “He is very disappointed. I am as well, but I expected you to try sooner or later. How many times has he told you and your brothers to leave that crotchety old horse alone? Lift your face.” Léoma did so, without speaking. Aefre finished smearing her daughter and tapped her on the shoulder. “Here. Do me.”

With a giggle, mother and daughter traded places, Léoma liberally spreading the cucumber goop on her mother, before pronouncing her mother to look as scary as a Dunlending’s wife. They dispatched the cucumber slices over their eyes and lay side by side on the bed.

“Can I tell you a story?”

“Da tells stories.”

“Da won’t tell this story! Your grandmamma told it to me when I was having you! Did you know, when your Da was about the same age as you, he did the same thing you just got in trouble for?”

“Wha!” Léoma turned in her mother’s direction, cucumber slices still on her eyes. “NO!”

“Aye.” Aefre lay as serenely as possible. “Your grandfather had a big irate stallion and your da decided to ride him too. He made it out of the barn at a trot when he threw your da in front of his da and his men! Landed on his butt.”

“Really? Just like me? What did GrandDa do?” Léoma had heard stories of her GrandDa – Gamhelm.

“The same thing your da did to you. Wailed his behind right there in front of everyone once he determined the only damage had been to your da’s pride.”

Léoma giggled. The two lay there for a short time, relaxing… Aefre mostly listening to her daughter let go and finally calm down.

“Léoma, I was thinking, it has been a long time since you and I took a day to ourselves.” She put her arm around her daughter and Léoma cuddled into her. Aefre reveled in the contact; this child was her father through and through. She adored him, preferred his company and no doubt, her comeuppance and sudden set down by him, in front of the men in the barnyard so very hurt her ego and feelings, but Aefre did not blame him a bit. Truth be told, the discipline coming from him would mean more and go further than any punishment Aefre would come up with. Still, when the little girl was sick, she came to Aefre.

“I don’t want to go into the stable for a long time.” The voice was so wistful and dejected, Aefre’s heart clenched for her. “Haleth will make fun. So will everyone else.”

“If they do, they will answer to me.” Aefre stated matter-of-factly. She squeezed her tight. “Ah, sweetheart, you have to go back sometime and the sooner the better, so here is my plan.” She rearranged the pillows and settled in. “I say after breakfast, you and I pack a nice lunch, saddle our horses, and just you and me go for a long, long ride. Just us. I will show you a few Shield Maiden tricks. Who needs those silly boys in the garrison?”

“Yeah. But, I don’t have a horse. I have a pony.”

“You have a pony, because your legs have not caught up to your brain, Little Thumper!”

Both Aefre and Léoma sat up, lifting their cucumber slices, mouths in perfect ‘o’s. Gamling stood there; neither had heard him come in. He held three fresh apple tarts. “Aefre, how many times have I told you not to believe every word that comes out of my mother’s mouth?” He came further into the room. “Is there enough room in that bed for me?” Both of his girls scooted as far over as they could, room now pretty much gone on the bed. “You weren’t at supper, My Lady, and Eadignes and Willan had taken the twins under their wings, so I assumed you were up here feeding your daughter.”

“Why is she mine when she has displeased you?”

“Because she is mine when she displeases you!”

“Mama wasn’t feeding me!” Léoma put the cucumber slices back on her eyes and leaned back into her pillows. “She brought tea and apple slices. Apple slices aren’t dinner!” She thrust a hand out. “Gimme the tart.”

“Under one condition. Look at me.” Léoma threw her head over in her father’s direction, big cucumber slices for eyes. “And take those silly things off so I’ll know you are not rolling your eyes at me.” She lifted one. “Do you know why I was angry today?”

Her shoulders dropped, bravado again, gone. “Yes, Da. I’m sorry.”

“Why did you do it?”

Léoma took both slices from her face and looked at her mother.

“Go on. I’d like to hear as well.”

She looked down at her lap, clearly uncomfortable. “Haleth called me a baby. Said I was a baby with a baby horse. I just wanted to prove-“

“That’s all you need to say, sweetling. I’ll have a chat with Haleth.” He handed her the gooey pastry. “Next time someone teases you, you tell me. I’ll take care of it.” They lay there together, propped up in the bed, eating pastries. They wiped their hands when they were done and Aefre took the cucumber slices and prepared to clean her and her daughter’s face.

Gamling watched the proceedings with a sense of disgust. “Why do you blotch that on your face? You both look absurd.”

“We are women!” Aefre pronounced.

Léoma was standing on her bed, her fingers pressing on her father’s cheek. “It makes your skin smoooooth like a baby’s bottom, Da! You could use some here,” she touched a cheek, “and here,” she touched the other cheek, “and up here,” she stroked over his brow, “and especially here,” her fingers touched eyes that squinted into the sun too often. She reached around him to the jar on the tray her mother brought up. “I’ll do it for you-“

Gamling stepped back, shaking his head. “Oh no, Thumper. If I did all that, my garrison would think I’m too pretty to follow.”

“I could name a few places that could use some of that, that your men don’t need to see,” Aefre whispered.

“Cheeky wench!”

“Aye. There too.”

The next day, the barnyard very quietly observed Aefre and her daughter, dressed in tunics and leggings, ride out of the garrison, with a packed hamper. Léoma acknowledged no one – especially Haleth who was cleaning the pigpen. And if anyone noticed that Léoma looked worn out and wind blown when they returned in the afternoon, they said nothing. They simply noted how big her and her mother’s smile were.

*** 

Léoma sat hunched over, arms crossed defiantly over her chest. 

“But she said she was proud of you, sis.”

“Aye,” Using the heel of her hand, she scrubbed away a tear. “Still. It was awful and embarrassing. I had hoped everyone had forgotten.”

The older of her two brothers pulled her in and hugged her. “You’re braver than I. I was terrified to go near that horse!”

There was a snort behind them. “It was so quiet, I expected to find dead bodies, considering the servants said you three were screaming the walls down.” Even at age 76 summers, Éomer King still stood tall and ram-rod straight, an impressive figure that still commanded attention and immediate loyalty. “Instead, I find a wonderful, loving family scene. I would bet both Gamling and Aefre are rolling over in their graves at such familial bliss.” Behind him, his diminutive wife and all three spouses and their children peeked around, terror and fear evident on their faces. All three looked up horrified at the large amount of humanity trying to look in to the chambers. Léoma was the first to find her voice.

“Béma, people! We found Mama’s diary and we’re simply discussing the contents!” 

Both of her brothers began nodding.

‘Yeah, uh huh…”

“Discussing…”

“Loudly. Very loudly.”

The three were now nodding like a bunch of drunken Dunlendings. 

Éomer narrowed his eyes. “Are you sure-“

“Sire!” Léoma stated matter-of-factly, “If I were going to kill them, I would have done so, long ago when they were smaller and easier to manhandle.”

“True,” the youngest smirked at his brother. “She would have smothered us in the cradle.”

“Sacrificed us to the Ent-wives,” the middle one smirked.

“You’re sure?” Éomer looked dubious.

All three smiled innocently, something that made the king quiver in fear. “We will share this after we have gone through it.”

“Truly sire,” Gamling’s look-a-like stated solemnly, “we’ve decided on the property for the most part. All that’s left rides on your decision on who will follow Da as Marshal. This,” he nodded to the stack of papers scattered on the floor, “we will share when we are ready, but now, this time is for us. Please understand.”

At this pronouncement and plea, Éomer smiled and backed up out of the room. “Grief. I understand grief. I’ll leave you to it.”

He shut the door.


	8. DF 03 - Ruler

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble. Éomer comes to a painful realization

****

DF03 – Ruler 

Rider – during chapter 19

_*** It has been confirmed more than once now. Théoden King is dead and Éowyn lay gravely injured. I am glad Gamling is with Éomer. I cannot imagine what he is going through. ***_

 

It didn’t hit him for a long time, what he was now.

It didn’t hit him after the battle. The sudden silence of war was drowned out quickly when he saw his sister lying on the field.

He thought she was dead. Thank Béma for Imrahil, realizing she wasn’t.

Even when he found his uncle, cold beneath Snowmane, it didn’t dawn on him.

Not while he sat in the Houses of Healing. No. Not a thought.

When Aragorn called on him, to face the Gates of Mordor. He was just another warrior, one of the Marshal’s of the Riddermark.

He did not realize until Gamling knelt in front of him on the top of Minas Tirith, with his sword lifted up.

_My King_

Ruler.


	9. GF 03 - Ends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gifre's final hours. Rated PG13 for Language

_**GF003 Ends**_

Rider of the Mark Universe –  
TimeLine - during chapter 47.

_***The death éored departed today to put Gifre out of our misery. Dragging. Béma, what a horrible way to die, but he deserves no mercy. Eadlyn is climbing the walls and I can barely walk after having this child. Gamling was in charge, so he has gone and taken Willan with him. I hope they have no trouble...***_

 

They rode.

Gifre’s hands were bound in front, so he would be able to hang on, thank Béma for that, but there were no reins; the fucking Marshal held them. Aefre’s lover… husband… whatever he wanted to call himself. Probably pussy-whipped. Gifre could see it. That cunt of a woman had the Rider wrapped around her finger, making him fucking useless as a man.

They rode.

What was his name again? Gamling. That’s right. Gamling. Meaning ‘old’. Aye, he was old all right. Senile to let a mere woman run his life. Speak out of turn.

They rode.

Gamling told him when they brought him out, after Éomer sentenced him to die if he tried to escape, they would maim him so he couldn’t run. Shoot him so he would hurt but not die. That bastard king let him know exactly how he was going to die and his lackey would make sure he died that way.

They rode.

Ah, whatever. From the time he was young, Gifre knew he wouldn’t die of old age, wouldn’t die peacefully in his bed. He just prayed it was quick, fast. At least he lived his life as he saw fit and enjoyed pretty much every damned minute of it as well. He didn’t regret it, didn’t wish to relive it, wouldn’t fight the end. Just prayed it went quickly.

They rode.

They came to a long plain, knee deep in snow; the entire country was a large plain, but somehow this… it smelled differently. From a far off breeze, one could smell a faraway aging forest, a river with an elvish taint. Gifre didn’t like the Elves either… aloof creatures… They stopped on this plain, Gamling looking about with a serious look on his face. “Well,” he said to no one in particular. “This is it.” The Marshal finally gazed on the prisoner, a look of pure disdain and loathing in his eyes. “This will be the end for you.”

“Really?” Gifre was determined to be jovial to the last moment he could draw breath. It irritated the Marshal and right now, it was the only pleasure he derived. “Will I get a last meal? I would like a warg steak.”

Gamling dismounted, taking his time. “You’ll get what we all get.” At this point, he smiled up at Gifre and the very sight of it made the prisoner shiver. It dawned on Gifre that this man had been to war, seen things, evil things, he could only dream of and he finally wondered what depravity or cruelty he was willing to disperse. 

“And that would be?”

“Dried beef jerky.”

“What?” Gifre scoffed. “No fine woman to fu-”

He hit the ground with a solid thud, knocking loose several teeth, whether from the fall or the yank that caused the fall. Gifre rolled over and pulled his bound hands beneath him in the cold snow, rising up on his knees. He saw the Marshal crouched on his toes before him. “Just so you know, Willan will be watching you tonight. He would love an excuse to simply beat you to a bloody pulp. We would cheer and then drag what is left of your worthless carcass, just to say we followed the king’s orders.”

Gifre finally stood up, his tongue searching the damage in his mouth. “Well, I suppose you’ll want to tie me to something so the lot of you can draw straws over who gets the joy of killing me.”

“Oh,” Gamling rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, “we’ll draw straws, make no mistake,” he grinned evilly at this rest, “however, I will make sure I have the shortest when it’s finished. Therefore, I have only one decision to make.”

“And that would be?”

Gamling was now perusing the plains, rubbing his snow-encrusted beard. “Whether to put you on a short leash, allowing your horse to trample you to death, or,” he was now looking at him askance, “put you a long leash, drawing out your death as long as possible. I think,” and with this he turned and began to walk off, “trampling would be short and a mercy and I do not wish to show you any mercy.” He turned, walking backwards and smiled. “And that, Gifre, Lord of Nothing, will be the end of you.”

 

tbc


	10. GF 69 - Lightning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some things do not need to be interupted.

_**The Diary**_

_**GF 68 - Lightning**_

_Timeline RotM – Chapter 47  
Warning: Rough, consensual graphic sex. _

_*If I’ve told him once, I’ve told him a thousand times, we need a drop bar on our door! Now, we’ll finally get one! Béma! If she asks one more soul if they sleep naked, I will die a thousand deaths!*_

The storm approached, slowly, on silent feet, creeping closer to the expanding homestead on the hill.

However, the couple in the bed was unmindful of the encroaching storm. Heavy breathing, the sound of flesh meeting flesh…

_Oh yeah, baby…_

_You like?_

_Yessssss…._

Quietly, the electricity built in the sky. 

Simultaneously, it built in the dark room…

_Oh baby, you feel so good…_

_Deeper…. C’mon… deeeeeper…_

_You like it deep?_

_Yesssssssssssss…_

Legs were bent, pressed up into a willing body by hands holding tight. The continued sound of skin on skin drowned out the building storm outside the window.

_You like this, don’t you?_

_Hmm hmmm…_

_Come on… talk to me…tell me what you want…._

_Just… fuck me. Fuck me hard._

The first bolt forked across the sky, lighting it up for a split second as if it were midday. Yet the couple in the bed was unaware, too wrapped up in each other.

_Ride me._

_Yesssssssssssss…_

A leg was thrown over a willing body, a hot, slick, engorged shaft thrust into willing, wet heat. The rider’s hand crept up a susceptible, heated torso, stroking a strong neck before reaching the hairy jawline, thumb, fingertips stroking, teasing the sensitive bottom lip, the tips finding their way into yet another, hot cavern.

Another heated crack in the sky, lighting the room for a moment, outlining the rider, a woman perched, long dark hair unbound and thrown back, and caressing the rough, calloused hands that dug into the soft, well rounded flesh, before smacking it firmly, the sound drowned out by the following thunder bolt.

_Feed me._

The strong hand so forcefully kneading the soft rounded flesh, moved up to the head, pulling it down. As the proffered and requested flesh was lowered, soft mounds were pressed together, causing the rider to hiss as both nipples were sucked into a solitary, wet mouth.

_Gaaaaaah…._

_You like that…_

_Baby this feels so good…_

Again, lightning forked through the sky, lighting the room, illuminating the rider, not bouncing so hard, as much as rocking…

Eventually, hands that kneaded a firm arse, pushed upwards.

_Sit on my face…_

_Are you nuts? I’ll smother you!_

The answer was incredulous, mocking. The one on bottom smacked the arse firmly.

_No you won’t. Do it. Sit On My Face!_

Quickly the rider moved upwards, settling on a willing mouth that clamped down on delicate, delectable flesh, causing the rider to buck once… twice…

_OH FUCK! THAT’S GOOD!_

Snickering could be heard under the rider’s body.

_Such language! What would the king say?_

The rider slid from her partner’s face. Kissing it, licking her juices from his mouth.

_He’d ask to join in!_

_Ooooh no don’t go there!_

Laughter…

_Is this a story you don’t wish to tell me?_

_No story. No. Honest._ A pelvic thrust… _please?_

A diversion. Reciprocation… a searing mouth wrapped around equally burning flesh…

Again, lightning lit the room, bathing the room in an eerie light, grotesque shadows on the wall, ignored by the players in the bed.

Hands in hair.

 _Stop. Not yet._ Pulling up. _I want it deep…_

Quickly she was on her hands and knees.

_Come on baby… do it…_

A knee thrust between two pliant legs, pushing them further apart. Again, an engorged member was thrust hard into a willing cave, hands found two firm mounds, hands spanning, thumbs spreading the crevice, wide. The storm had begun in earnest outside, thunder now joining the lightning, radiance filling the room with flashes of intensity, of heat, electricity.

_You like it deep…_

_Yessssss…_

Again, the sound of flesh pounding flesh overrode the sound of the storm. Fingers from one hand found the roots of hair, grasping, clutching like reins, the other caressing the globe of flesh where flesh was joined.

_Harder baby please. It feels so good._

_You going to cum?_

_Yesyesyes harder…pleeeeeeeeeeeeeeeassssssssse…_

They were unaware of the storm.

Unaware there was more…

There was a ‘pop’…

_Yeah baby…_

_You like that?_

_Oh yeah baby…_

*pop*

_Harder?_

_Oh yeah baby, smack that arse…_

Lightning…

“Mama? Da? What ARE you doing?”

Gamling collapsed on Aefre, covering her, throwing the quilt over the two of them and squishing things that did not need to be squished in the process. He squeaked painfully and Aefre’s heart squeezed for him.

“Léoma?” Both tried to cover themselves, unable to tell if they were, the quilt was flying everywhere. “Is something wrong, honey?” Aefre tried to sound as if nothing were wrong. Gamling however, was in the throes of crushed…

Their three-year-old daughter stood in the doorway, lightning showing her disgusted face. “The storm scareded me so I was going to sweep wit you. But you’re naked and playing horsie.” She turned her back to them and headed out the door. “Cretins.” 

Aefre’s head hit the mattress and Gamling rolled from her, hands between his legs, groaning miserably.

The next morning, while the carpenter attached a drop bar to the master bedroom of the house, under Gamling’s limping visage, Aefre was forced to divert her daughter, who asked everyone who would listen if they slept naked and played horsie…


	11. GF 69 - Thunder

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even the bravest of souls have things they are frightened of.

**_Thunder  
_**

_  
What a horrible thunderstorm last night. We left the door unbarred incase anyone decided to find refuge in our bed, but we found the boys consoling each other in sleep in their own. They looked as sweet as they did as babies. Too bad they had to wake up and start arguing with Léoma…_

 

The far off call of the storm woke the elder of the two up. At first he wanted to fall back into sleep, but the rustling in the bed across from his brought him up further away from slumber.

He waited. Perhaps it was just a single thing, nothing to worry about.

It rolled again. This time louder, lasting longer. 

It came again, quickly, this time sounding like an éored, thundering across the plains. 

When lightening lit the sky, the red-head peeked to his brother’s bed and rolled his eyes at the shuddering, cowardly form under the covers. With a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes, he scooted to the far edge and threw the sheet back. Who would think his little brother, the dare-devil, the one who jumped from outrageous heights from the barn swing, would be terrified of the sound made by Béma riding his steed across the sky?

He waited, because he knew the very second-

Thunder rolled again, this time crashing, lightning lighting up the night sky, casting grotesque shadows on the wall of deformed trees and branches.

His brother’s feet hit the floor once, leaping into his womb-mate’s bed and snuggling in. The scaredy-cat’s shaking voice whispered, “I knew you’d be scared, so I joined you.”

Gamling’s spit snorted and put his arms around his baby brother, throwing the sheet over the two. Just as his brother stopped shaking in fear and he began to fall asleep, a horrible thought hit him. He squinted his eyes in the dark and hissed…

“If you piss on me, I will kick you to the floor!”

tbc..


	12. DF 31 - Flame

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What really happened that night Gamling locked Eomer and Lothiriel in the barn? They swear 'nothing happened'... well... _something_ happened...
> 
> Rated PG

The Diary  
DF 31 - Flame

_**The Diary**_

_**DF 31 - Flame**_

_Béma! That man locked them in the barn and forgot! FORGOT! They are in so much trouble and it’s his fault… our fault…_

 

 

The flame in the torch flared, highlighting her deep ebony tresses. Éomer fought the urge to bury his nose in it, just to savor the scent. 

All the way down, it was all he could do to keep from clicking his heels in the air – wonder of wonderments – time alone, just as he wanted, just as he told….

_Uh oh…_

Éomer shoved the niggling thought to the back of his head. Gamling was his friend, Aefre adored him, the very model of a submissive Rohirrim wife…

Okay, maybe that was a bit much, a wee bit, but Aefre wouldn’t…

Would she?

_Naaaaah._

The door creaked shut behind them, now the only light coming from the flame of the torch Éomer carried. Slowly, prolonging the inevitable, Éomer moved from side to side, lighting the sconces attached to posts, eventually lighting the entire barn. 

“Do all barns smell this… pungent?” Lothiriel looked around, her nose slightly tweaked.

“Not Rohirrim barns,” the King of Rohan puffed. “Ours are better ventilated.” He looked down at her from his great height and smiled what he hoped was his most charming smile. “Although truthfully, first thing in the morning, after they have been closed up for hours, they can be rather…” his voice trailed off, looking for the right words.

“Pungent?”

His grin got bigger. “Aye.” He turned and made his way back up the gangway, his smile dropping.

“Is something wrong?” Lothiriel trailed along behind him, very aware of his sudden changing mood.

“No…” He turned suddenly, bumping into her and knocking her off-balance. Quickly, he grabbed hold of her, ensuring she didn’t fall on the sawdust floor. For a moment, time stood still; Lothiriel, ram-rod straight, looking wide-eyed into the equally startled visage of the giant Horse Lord. After a moment, his smile came back and he rubbed her arms gently where he grabbed her moments before. “Sorry. Are you alright?”

Lothiriel felt a sudden chill when he turned her lose. His touch was welcome, wanted and she desired more. She blushed slightly, embarrassed where her thoughts were going. _I fear he’ll think I’m wanton…_

Éomer quickly returned at the task at hand. With huge strides, he paced to the back of the barn, grabbed the torch and began to poke in the corners.

“What is wrong?”

Éomer returned the torch to its holder, sliding it gently into the iron notch. “There is no back gate,” he scowled. “Not that that is bad,” he strode up the galley, looking into every stall, “there are outside doors in all of the stalls.” He stopped and scowled. “But there should also be a back gate. I’ll have to speak to Aragorn. It just doesn’t feel right!”

“Why is this a problem?”

Éomer turned. Lothiriel was leaning back against the stable door, looking rather innocent, her hands tucked beneath her bottom as she leaned on them. The firelight played on her sun-kissed skin; the cut of her gown, clearly showing, defining her curves. 

Éomer had had many women in his lifetime. All had come freely to his bed, never coaxed. Their beauty came in all shapes and sizes and he cherished each and every one. But at this very moment, he was aware that none of them affected him like this one, innocent princess.

His very being was on fire. This kiss was inevitable.

He stepped up to her, if it were possible, backing her further into the wood. He reached above and leaned on his arm, a calloused finger tracing the neckline of her dress. “Ah, ðu béon léoflic néalǽcan án ælfscíene. Habban ðu ænig þanc gerád léoflic ðu béon?” 

The language was sensual, spoken just above a whisper, a caress in the air.

“I… don’t understand…”

Éomer smiled and dropped his head. “My horse,” he began rather sheepishly, “You wanted to see my horse. He’s right behind you.”

Lothiriel looked over her shoulder. Sure enough, the huge stallion stood in the corner, munching on hay. “Firefoot, come say hello to the princess.” The equine proved he was not a dog and rather than obey, he perked his ears, shook his mane as if to say ‘no’ and returned to his hay.

Lothiriel turned to face her very tall captor but couldn’t get her eyes past his sternum. “I… uhm…” she blushed, “don’t think he’s very impressed with me.”

“What he thinks doesn’t matter,” Éomer’s voice was still very soft. “What matters is what I think.” 

Lothiriel felt as if she were stretched taut on a rack. For a split second, she knew what it was like to be prey, this huge man was a skilled hunter and she played a game she only fantasized about beneath her sheets in the dark. “What do you think?”

He smiled at that, bending down and traced the edge of her ear with his nose. “I think that I am going to kiss you.”

“Oh.”

His hand gently cupped her cheek, the thumb lightly tracing the edge of her lip. The palm tenderly encompassed the entire side of her face, his long fingers sensing the rapid pulse in her neck. With his other arm arced over her and the hugeness of him lightly pressing her to the wood, she was truly trapped. It was heady feeling she decided she liked and craved. "Are you afraid?"

Where she found her voice, she'd never know. "Should I be afraid?"

The King of Rohan leaned over, his beard and breath tickling her ear. "If I were in your shoes," he whispered, barely audible, "I would be very afraid."

Lothiriel inhaled.

Éomer’s nose traced her jawline, his lips and tongue grazing tender and flamed skin. For a brief second, he hovered over her, before dipping, tasting, sampling the sweetness of her mouth. Instinctively, she opened to him, her hands grasping the ornate tunic he wore, unconsciously pulling him closer. With a deliberateness uncanny, his tongue flicked in, robbed her of her breath, caressed her own, before gliding up, his bottom lip, teasing the bow of hers.

Lothiriel waited for more, her eyes closed.

And waited…

Finally…

“Please,” she whispered, “don’t stop.”

Nothing happened.

She opened her eyes, startled that he still hovered closely over her.

“Are you sure?”

It dawned on her that this man was no stranger to women and deep in her very soul, she wanted to be the last and the end to his wandering. She wanted her arms to be the ones he came home to, cherished, harbored in. Timid and shy was not in her vocabulary and with an audacious sniff, she reached behind his head and pulled him to her.

It started as a flicker, before they burst into flame, on fire for each other. She clung to him, tasting him, taking what he offered, his heat, his passion.

Éomer caught himself before he plundered her. Taking her here in a stall, would be easy, but she was not a wench to tumble. She was a princess and not just any princess; one that he…

_Really wanted…_

Her innocence was obvious, and he fought to keep his kiss light. Damn, he wanted to pillage her, touch her, bury himself in her…

With great effort, he pulled back, stepped back. He saw the immediate confusion on her face, her blush that not only spread on her cheeks, but rushed down her neck and well into the plunging neckline of her dress. Reluctantly, he traced the edge of her dress, lightly caressing the curve of her exposed breasts. “Ðu béon rípian, lóca hú nú nis þý bearhtmhwíl tó plyccan þín sellan.”

Confusion flashed through her green eyes. “I… I am sorry. I don’t understand.”

Éomer pushed away from the stall wall, hating the breeze that now came between them. “I should be the one to apologize, princess. I wish to court you, but this is not the way to go about it. We should return to the reception before anyone misses us.” With this, he turned and headed towards the stable doors, praying to cool his ardor.

Lothiriel took a deep breath. Truthfully, she did not want to go back to the reception. She did not want to face the slimy Lamedonian with the sweaty palms, or the elderly lord from Langstrand, looking for his third wife. She wanted to stay here, in this man’s arms and kiss him again and let him do whatever he wanted…

The fact she thought that, terrified her, and titillated her. For the longest time, he had been her fantasy at night and she wondered if the man was as good as the fantasy. 

Somehow, she suspected he was better.

Rattling and what she thought might be Rohirrim swearing interrupted her musings. Éomer stood at the barn door with the handle in his hands.

“Is something wrong, Éomer King?”

He looked over his shoulder, wagging a finger at her. “Don’t you call me that after the kiss we just shared.” He turned back to the door, his smile fading and pulled on the door again.

It didn’t budge.

Suddenly, she was at his elbow. “Is something wrong?”

“The door is stuck.” He yanked again.

“And you can’t unstick it?”

Éomer yanked the door one last time, confirming his fear. “Princess, it’s not jammed.” He turned around looking at the stall. “It’s locked. The outer bar is dropped.”

Lothiriel immediately began looking around. “Locked? Who would drop the bar this late at night?”

He began moving down the corridor. “Especially with all the torches lit.” All the stalls were occupied and he didn’t think the princess would wish to enter each one, so being accustomed to working around large equines, the King of Rohan went into each stall, checking each and every outer door.

They were all locked from the outside.

“No luck?”

He was now back to roaming the middle of the walkway. High above, the lofts were stacked with hay bales. “Do you see a ladder?” No sooner than the words were out of his mouth, the horselord spied it at the far back. Bidding Dol Amroth’s Princess to hold and spot him, he climbed up to realize the air openings and windows were too small for a body to get through. For a moment, he sank down on one of the bales, despair on fair features. _Stuck… all night… with the Princess…. Would he survive? He wanted her baaaaad…_

Question was would her father allow him to live when he found out? They were stuck here until someone let them out, probably not until early morning. The thought crossed his mind that suddenly the chances became rather excellent that he would return to Rohan with a Queen and he wasn’t sure if he was ready… 

But mostly he wasn’t sure that’s what she wanted. The last thing he desired was a political marriage or a forced one where his wife abhorred him, hated Rohan or its people or worse, where anyone would whisper that the king of a barbaric and poorer land purposely compromised a wealthy princess. Rohan was very different from Belfalas. 

He _really_ wanted to court her. Properly.

_Make sure…_

“Éomer?” Lothiriel’s voice drifted into the rafters, shaking Éomer from his musings. “Is there a way out?” She looked up, seeing him look down at her. For a moment, there was a rakish grin across his features and when she followed his eyes, she realized he could see straight down her dress. “Enjoying the view?” She looked back up and discovered she could not see him.

Suddenly, a bale of hay was dropped from above, landing several feet from her. A second and a third followed and then a fourth. Soon after, the form of the King of Rohan descended the ladder. He turned and looked at her, unconsciously rubbing his hands together. “We are stuck here, Princess, most likely all night. Might as well make you comfortable as possible.” 

Her smile fell and she looked down at his boots. “Oh. Father will not be very happy.”

A calloused finger slid under her chin, lifting it up. “No, I suspect he will not and I don’t blame him. Although in Rohan, it is not so uncommon, to spend the night in the barn.” Éomer turned her lose and began to loosen the bales, spreading them out into a make-shift bed for the two of them. As soon as he was finished, he took off his cloak and spread it on one side. “For you,” he gestured grandly down at the cloak.

“Éomer, that is _your_ cloak.” 

“Aye, it is, but it will clean easily and I do not want you to mess up your dress.” He clasped both hands in the front and looked to the rafters, rocking on his heels. “Last thing I want is for your father and brothers to think I had taken advantage of you.”

“You know, I could take the dress off…”

Éomer looked at her, stunned, mouth totally agape. Lothiriel began to laugh. “Please! I only jest!” 

Relief flooded his features, his hand against his chest, as he staggered backwards in mock relief. “Don’t DO that! Your father would kill me! There would be war between Rohan and Belfalas!” He sank down on the end of his cloak, his back to her. “That is the last thing Elessar needs to deal with!” He patted the spot next to him, dusting off minute bits of straw and dust. He was acutely aware of when she sat down next to him.

“Father is generally reasonable.“ Éomer snorted and sarcastically echoed her at the word ‘generally’. “We’ll explain what happened and it will be fine.” She patted him on the knee as if to reassure him, not realizing that her touch sent jolts up his torso and into his groin. “You said it is not unusual for men and women to spend the night in the barn in Rohan?” 

Éomer realized she was changing the subject and he allowed her. “Horses. They colic, sometimes they founder and you have to walk them for hours and hours or they need help birthing colts or fillies. At times, it takes several extra hands to aid in breed-“

“Breed?” Lothiriel’s voice went up an octave. “They need help? You can’t just simply…put them in a large stall and shut the gate? Come back in the morning?”

The King of Rohan seemed to be unaware of the Princess’s discomfort. He crossed long legs in front of him. “Sometimes – especially if it is a mare’s first time, she can be a bit uncooperative. When that happens, she is brought into a specially built stall. It is quite narrow, so she can’t move around and typically someone will hold her bridle and speak calmly to her while the stallion…” his voice drifted off as if realizing how scandalous and insensitive he sounded. “Uhm… well… after the first time, a mare is not so frightened anymore. She knows what’s going on.”

Lothiriel was looking at him, green eyes wide with shock. Éomer wanted to reassure her that when she married him, he would make sure she would desire and want…

_When? Shouldn’t that be if?_

“Well… I…” Lothiriel was scrambling for words. “Well, I suppose the first time for that is simply frightening or unsettling-“

“I think we need to change the subject.” Éomer was incredibly uncomfortable and while he didn’t say it unkindly, Lothiriel blushed and attempted to hide her face in shame. She barely felt Éomer’s hand come up and cup her cheek, pulling her ear to his lips. “By the way, you are beautiful when you blush. I hope there will come a time when you won’t have to be careful of what you say around me.” He shrugged, which made her smile. “I am sorry. Rohirrim are rather… earthy and straight-forward. I forgot myself.”

They sat as such for some time, talking about this and that, his homeland, her homeland, very different cultures, customs. For not the first time, Éomer wondered if she would desire to leave the ocean and move so far, exchanging a sea of fathomless water to a sea of endless grass. He wondered if she would think his people were beneath hers, somehow lesser than the more educated and wealthier Gondor. Lothiriel wondered if he realized how utterly sensual he was, that somehow, could he ever consider her a possible Queen or better yet, a wife; if he would teach her that lovely language she could not understand a word of.

Or teach her what fantasies were made of. She had heard some of the healers, servants talk of how the Rohirrim were amazing lovers… one had whispered the one she spent time with as a tender warrior. A tender warrior! That didn’t make sense, but Lothiriel wondered…

Of course, no one whispered of Éomer dallying with anyone, nor any of his Marshals or higher Captains. But the fact that Éomer did not… had not…

She realized he was quiet, staring at her intently. “Am I boring you?”

Suddenly self-conscious, ashamed she was caught with her mind wandering… day-dreaming… “No. It is late. I’m getting tired…”

He smiled grimly at that and stood up. “It is late. I suspect it is well after midnight.” Coming behind her, he laid down, and stretched out on the exposed hay, his lower arm extended. “Come on, Princess. I would hate to be accused of you losing any beauty sleep.” As she took her place on his cloak-

_I should wrap you properly, let them find us in the morning, ceremonies, agreements, and contracts be damned…_

\- he took the loose edge and threw it over her, tucking her in and in some strange way, putting a cloth barrier between him and her.

Lothiriel relaxed, pillowing her head on his shoulder and spooned into him, causing Éomer to gasp at the contact. Before long, he listened to her breathing even out, deepen and as each individual flaming torch went out, one by one, Éomer, King of Rohan, Hero Warrior to Gondor…

… lay awake for the longest night of his life.

 

_Tbc_

_Ah, ðu béon léoflic néalǽcan án ælfscíene. Habban ðu ænig þanc gerád léoflic ðu béon?” - You are like a beautiful fairy nymph. Have you any idea how beautiful you are? -_

_Ðu béon rípian, lóca hú nú nis þý bearhtmhwíl tó plyccan þín sellan. -  
You are ripe, however now is not the time to pluck your fruits._

_NOTE: the word fruits – ‘sellan’… translates to FIRST FRUITS… as if what one reserves when they give something to the gods… the first fruits, the best fruits, the ripest fruits…the perfect fruits… to dedicate your FIRST child… it is precious…_

 

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v152/ZeeDippyVessel/Fic%20Artwork/?action=view&current=Rianna_d_EomerLothiriel.jpg)

This was done by Rianna and I found this on Deviant Art. It was not made for or commissioned by me, it simply was the art that inspired this ficlet. I don't own it and lay no claim to it. It is simply beautiful. Oh... and Eomer is hawt, isn't he?


	13. GF 79 - When?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> GF 79 – When? 
> 
> Timeline: Post ROTK   
> RoTM – sometime after the weddings and before the baby  
> Summary/Notes: Originally Written for the JFA writing challenge.

_**When I met you...**_

_***That MAN! I just don’t understand him! One minute, he’s sweet, wonderful, romantic… and then he goes and just…. Ooooooooooh! Such a Man!_

_But I wouldn’t have him any other way.***_

_***_

_Before I met you, my life was perfect._

_I was a tough soldier; a Captain of the Riddermark, Théoden King's personal armorer and one of his Knights. I was respected, feared by lesser Riders; men were under my command.  
I was important. _

_I could go to the brothel any time I wished. I kept one... two... ten whores satisfied at any time, given my wont or mood._

_I could drink as much as I wanted, whenever I wanted. I could belch and scratch what ever body part I wanted and no one complained._

_I didn't have to trim my beard! If I liked it long and scraggly, that was my business and no one else's!_

_I could bathe when I felt like it! A little dirt and horse shite never hurt anyone._

_Shield Maidens??? HAHAHAHAAHAHA!!! Wait! Let me get off the floor... HAHAHAHAAHA!_

_Me? Soft? HA! Don't make me laugh._

_No, make me laugh - say Shield Maidens again!_

_I could sleep all day if I wished._

_Éomer looks up to me._

_Laundry? What's that? Women BEG to do my laundry!_

_I make fun of poets._

_Love? Bah! Who needs it!_

_Before I met you, my life was...._

_...my life was okay. It was just fine._

_I could go to the brothel any time I wished. I kept one... two... TEN whores satisfied at anytime, given my wont and mood. Well.... okay... one... or two... IF I was in a good mood._

_I could drink as much as I wanted, whenever I wanted. I could belch and scratch whatever body part I wanted and none of the men complained._

_I had a warm spot by the fire in the Hall to sleep... usually._

_Théoden King considers my advice._

_I was important... I think..._

_I could do my own laundry, if needed._

_Shield Maidens???? HAHAHAAHA... hehehe... huh?_

_Me? Soft? Bite your tongue!_

_I slept the morning away!_

_Éomer looks at me... as a fellow soldier, a fellow Riderl._

_I make fun of poets._

_Well...._

_Now that I think about it..._

_Before I met you, my life..._

_My life was miserable._

_I was alone._

_I slept in the barn._

_With my horse._

_Who farts._

_And eats all my apples._

_I was important... in my mind._

_I did my own laundry._

_I have pink small clothes because I did my own laundry._

_Shield Maidens? Béma! What is the Riddermark coming to?_

_I slept the excesses of the previous night off, miserable..._

_When I went to the brothel, I left feeling just as empty, just as lonely as I did when I entered. Any comfort received is fleeting, momentary. Paid for._

_I was a bastard._

_Me? Soft? Wait... STOP pinching my love-handles..._

_But then..._

_...then I met you._

_I am a tough soldier, a Marshal of the Riddermark. I am Éomer's King's Chief Knight; I am respected, respected by fellow Riders and feared by the Young Eorlings. They jostle amongst themselves to catch my eye and to gain my respect; to earn their way under my command._

_My beloved wife was a Shield Maiden and never lets me forget it! A tougher, more tenacious opponent you will never meet and I am proud to have her at my side! If you think that's humorous, you tell her. I will sit on the fence, while she kicks your smelly arse to Mordor and back! And I will laugh while she does it._

_Does the name Éowyn, White Lady of Rohan, mean anything to you? It should! She killed the Witch King of Angmar! Ah yes, the Bad-arse Nazgul of Sauron! I taught her everything... okay... ALMOST everything she knows. Shield Maidens of Rohan rule! YEAH!_

_I try to be fairer. And just._

_I am no longer alone. My wife sleeps with me, warms my bed, not because I pay her to, or because she has no where else to sleep, but because she wants to. I want her to. She is warmer than any fire._

_I don't want to go to the brothel. I don't need to, not for female company; there is nothing there that interests me._

_I don't drink alone. She joins me. Sometimes, I think she can out-belch me. Disgusting woman..._

_We talk together. In the evenings we walk out and look over the Riddermark spread below us like a pieced quilt, farmlands and pastures, and we talk of - everything and anything. Sometimes, we ride out for the afternoon, take a food sack of wine and cheese and go to the dell where we first kissed and where we married. I wrap her in my cloak, just so she knows I would do it again and again. I can tell her anything. She can tell me anything, and does, opinionated wench! What she feels, how she thinks. I respect her! She respects me, even if she belabors me when I, well, when I need it!_

_She keeps my beard trimmed. It looks good and it no longer itches. I like the hair cleansers she washes my hair with. It looks as good... BETTER than Éomer's and that poncy Elf's!_

_She bathes with me. She washes my back... and shoulders... and neck... and she washes M'lord Happy... which makes him VERRRRRRRY happy.... and me verrrrrry happy..._

_Grrrrrrrrrrowl!_

_I am loved._

_Éomer King asks my advice._

_Éomer looks me in the eye. He considers me his friend._

_I rise early with her to greet the sun, to watch it rise and paint the mountains and fields in its crimson glory._

_I have become a poet... in my mind... never out loud. That would be... Elfy._

_If I scratch my balls, she scowls at me and makes me wash my hands. But I pinch her bottom and that makes her squeal._

_Serves her right; makes us even!_

_I am important... to her._

_My laundry is done for me. She oversees much, mending my clothes. She worries over this color and that cut and this length. Damn! I look good!_

_I am no longer alone. She walks by my side, and is an equal partner in all I do. It is clear she does not need me - no, she ran her household alone for four years and did a damn fine job of it. But for some, strange reason, she desires my presence as I do hers.  
When I met you... my life is perfect.... _

*** 

"Gamling?" 

Aefre's quiet voice broke through the Horse Lord's reverie. He turned from the window, where he had been watching the sun rise. "What are you musing on?" 

He left the window, crossing the room and picked the pillows up from the floor, tossing them over the bed so she could place them."Me? Muse?" He shook his leonine head. "Just thinking about how my life has changed when you came into it is all." 

Aefre cocked her head to the side. "Oh?" She smoothed the pillows. "Is that good or bad?" 

"What? When I met you? It's ... it's good." He looked at the bed before grinning. "Wanna get naked?" 

***   
tbc  
***


	14. GF 04 - Insides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What do you do when someone you don't trust makes you an offer to good to be true? rated G

_**The Diary**_

_**GF 04 Insides**_

Rider of the Mark Universe. 

8 years after chapter 47

_Léoma just came from the garden, face smeared with clotted cream… and her brothers looking amazingly dejected. I suspect she did NOT share the treats with them like I told her to…._

 

“It looks nasty!”

“But it tastes good. Trust me.”

When Léoma said that, the one holding the pastry looked at his twin. It was never a good thing when _She_ said to trust her. His womb-mate shook his head.

“Nuh huh!” The dark-headed one shoved the offensive looking item at his sister. “You can have it.”

Leoma smiled evilly and snatched the cream pastry from her brother, standing up with it, before taking a bite of it and licking the cream from the insides. “Good. More for me.”


	15. GF 05 - Outsides

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Type A Personality Man. Type A Personality Woman. Their Children. Rain. 'Nuff Said. Rated G

_**The Diary**_

_**GF 05 Outsides**_

_I don’t know who is worse; Them or Him_

It had rained for days. Days and days and days. Gamling said the only reason why the barns weren’t flooded was because they were up on a hill, higher ground than any building in the bailey. Aefre thought it wouldn’t end. At least the crops in the field were getting plenty of water. The fields were well irrigated, the pastures gently sloped, so for now there was no worry of them flooding.

And all this rain made the household cranky and irritable. Servants were grouchy, Willan was scowling…

And it rained.

Gamling was a bear. Aefre seriously considered spending the night in the barn herself if he got any worse. Béma knows Adenydd or Dréogan were preferable company to that bonehead! He was worse than the children!

The Children! Béma! Not only their three, but Willan and Eadignes’s son, and she was pregnant again, and the cook’s grandson and several of the maids children… the house was screaming from sun up to sundown, the sound of running feet and laughter… sometimes laughter, usually shrieking…

And it poured.

In a rare fit of good-naturedness, Aefre caught Gamling dragging the children around behind him on the linens. He _claimed_ it was to keep their youngest from belly sliding down the dining hall table…. As if! 

So it was with amazement, Aefre awoke one morning to sunlight streaking across her bed, her husband by her side, snoring contentedly. For the first time in many nights, there were no children in their bed, lying cross-wise between their parents. She rose and tiptoed to the window, drawing the window covering gently to the side. Wonder of wonderments, the sun was out, puddles were drying up in the early sun; it was a beautiful late spring day.

She dressed, tiptoed downstairs, in hopes of waking no one who wasn’t up yet. Cook was in the kitchen, pulling out fresh bread and the two quietly broke their fast together, appreciating the silence.

Too soon, too soon, the household awoke and before Aefre could stop any of them, their children came barreling down the hall, down the steps, all three haphazardly dressed as only children in a hurry and determined to dress themselves could do. She cringed when she realized both boys were barefoot, only to gasp when their father followed behind, equally pitifully dressed and barefoot as well! Gamling reached the door first, throwing it open and his children ran outside screaming…

“OUTSIDES!!! OUTSIDES!!! OUTSIDES!!!”

And headed straight to the nearest mudpuddle…


	16. 64 - Spring

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This was originally written for a spring challenge 
> 
> Summary : In Ring One: It's spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want - oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so! ~Mark Twain
> 
> Takes place approximately 15 years after Rider of the Mark

_***That daughter of Gamling’s! Béma, I was never this awful! I would just like to bury her and wait until she’s of age before I dig her back up and marry her off! Rude! Inconsiderate! And the worst thing is, I think she has a crush on someone – probably an elf, knowing her!***_

 

__

This is for all the girls, about 13

__

High School can be so tough, be so mean… 

Gamling had forgotten how… noisy and congested Edoras was.

Crowds of people, smells, clamorous, close together. Even the stables had a staleness about them that was disquieting.

_***And to think you thought you’d miss the place when Éomer King sent you to the Wold. You thought it would be like going to prison.***_

A prison, indeed. A prison of open air, endless blue skies. And a homestead and garrison that had to be rebuilt from almost the ground. Aefre cried-

_***sobbed like a runny-nosed tot***_

-when she saw what had been done to her old home.

The Rider and Marshall sighed. What was past is past and the area was now bustling and healthy with growth and Rohirrim. He admitted to a wee bit of pride when he looked over the gardens his wife insisted on toiling in, the fields the people worked together and the barns – where Rohirrim and others came from far to inspect. Their breeding and stock were much sought after.

_***All right. More than a weeeee bit of pride. More like a puffed up tail-bird!***_

But that wasn’t his concern at this moment. At the moment, his main concern lay riding in the direction of a small copse of trees where he not only shared a first kiss with a fiery and passionate woman, but where he married her as well!

Of course he was concerned about the large rising of dust caused by many Elven and Gondorian horses riding toward Minas Tirith. This spring’s yearly visit to Edoras coincided with a contingency of Elves traveling from Lorien to Gondor. But that was a mild concern and he had a feeling that both concerns were connected.

He entered the stables. He immediately felt at home in the filtered sun and smell of hay.

“Sir!” Haleth ran up to him from behind, gangly youth turned tall-

_***you look like your da, only taller. He’d be so proud***_

-Rohirrim. This trip back from Edoras, the boy would be bringing a bride home with him.

“You should have sent word down. I would have Dréogan saddled for you!”

“I’m not so old I can’t saddle my own horse!” Gamling stepped around the Youngling with a smile. “Besides, I’m afraid I would be interrupting something. With your marriage-”

“I took your advice, Sir.” Haleth fell in step with the Marshall. “I’m letting her do the planning. I’ll just show up when I’m told to and wear the things I’m told to wear.” He leaned over to whisper in Gamling’s ear. “Lady Aefre is making my wedding cloak!”

“Then you’ll have something wonderful indeed.” Gamling stopped, memories of his own wedding cloak revisited. “Erm. Make sure it’s plenty wide. Enough to wrap the two of you in.” He strode on. “Afterall, you don’t want to be showing her arse or yours to whoever catches you the next morning.”

“No sir. I don’t.” Haleth stopped in front of the tack shelf assigned to Gamling and his entourage upon their arrival for the festivities in Edoras. He set down the large sack he was carrying and picked up Gamling’s heavy ornate saddle. “Would you be liking company for your ride?”

Gamling heard the wistfulness in his voice. “Under the circumstances, I don’t think she’ll be pleased if I bring company to witness her… whatever.” He slung the heavy gate open. “Considering her temper and attitude as of late, she probably won’t be pleased with me witnessing her whatever! Come! Dréogan. We ride!” He tossed the apple he was carrying, watching the stallion catch it nimbly from the air. For a fleeting moment, the soldier feared this would be the last trip his war stallion made, but he shook the thought from his mind. Gamling slung the blanket and the saddle on the horse’s back, mindful of the applesauce slobbers dripping into the sawdust. He began to cinch the saddle snug. “You might as well give me the food sack.”

“I’ve put it in a saddlebag for you.” The saddlebag appeared from thin air, throwing itself over Dréogan’s rump. Both Marshal and Youngling working across from each other to attach it to the saddle. “Your lady wife gave it to me. Told me to chase you down. She figured both of you would be hungry.” 

“She knows her daughter well,” Gamling murmured. 

The boy blushed before going on. “I’ve also added a skin of newly made apple wine that’s been watered down. Not very potent, but still sweet.”

He swung himself up in the saddle, a small twinge in his side clenching, stretching; one that never went away even after all these years. “I won’t tell! Open the doors and gates and clear the way. I don’t plan on allowing her to get far ahead.”

“I wouldn’t think so.” Haleth grinned, headed for the barn door. “I, for one, wouldn’t want to be in your boots come a span.” He hollered over his shoulder with a grin. “But I thought I’d offer my company, just in case. I guess I get to go through this in fifteen or twenty summers.” He threw the doors open. “HO! RIDER! CLEAR THE PATHS! OPEN THE GATES! RIDER! HO!” There was scurrying in the lower path where adults checked to make sure no little ones wandered in dangerous places. One learned soon that not necessarily your ma or da would scoop you up and out of harms way for a time when a Rider of the Mark bolted from the stables.

“True and I don’t wish it on you. Tell my wife I’ll be back when I am back. Enjoy her time with Lothiriel.” Mindful of stray dogs and children, Gamling carefully picked his to the gate before pointing him in that ancient direction and allowing him his head.

Dréogan was slowing down. His heart was still strong and he was still formidable in battle, but Gamling knew his pasture days were getting closer and that within the next two summers, he would be training the colt that was newly born in a stall in the Wold just weeks before to take Dréogan’s place. 

But… Béma’s balls, he was slowing down as well. The yearly trip to Edoras grated on his nerves as of late and his blood no longer sang as it once had when Éomer King called the Éorlings to ride for Gondor.

And the Elves still drove him insane with their gracefulness and robes and politeness and their strange lilting language and…

And nothing! His daughter was in a copse of trees, probably crying her eyes out, over an elf. Probably Tamtheril, who still visited and drove Sulis insane because Gaberas ‘liked’ him and wouldn’t begin to gaze at any of the Riders on their holdings. It was time for that one to go west! Far, far west as west as one could go or sail or whatever they did!

_***Hrmph! Elves!***_

He was upon the copse before he realized and was relieved to see her mount there, reins loosely tied, enough for the stallion-

_***no wimpy mare for you, not my girl!***_

-to graze, but not trip on his lacings. He dismounted, tying his reins as well, before unlacing the saddlebags, slinging them over his shoulder, and stepping softly into the copse.

Every year, the copse grew, thickened with a bit more scraggly shrub. The spot where he wrestled Aefre the first time-

_***and got a very nice kiss thank you very much***_

-was grown over and he decided to bring Aefre back in a few days for lunch-

_***and DESSERT!***_

and to clear it out somewhat for Haleth’s bonding. He bent to step beneath a branch and into the clearing proper.

_!THUNK!_

A long-bladed knife flew past him into the tree to his left. Gamling cocked his head to the side before sliding a glance at the thrower and yanking the still vibrating knife free from the tree. “Hate me so much little one, you’d see me dead?”

“NO!” Petulance rose from the voice in the shadows. “I just want to be left alone.” Gamling turned the knife, offering the handle to his daughter. She took it from him and resheathed it. 

“One never knows what roams the Riddermark. Mountain men, Orcs…” He allowed his voice to trail off as he settled in the dirt on the other side of the tree, his back to hers. He couldn’t see her; she couldn’t see him… both separated by a tree and forthy summers of experience and attitude. 

Lots of attitude.

He removed his riding gloves and tucked them in his belt.

“I can take care of myself. There are no Orcs here! You can go back to Edoras and tell Ma… Mother… I am fine!”

The Rider grimaced at his daughter’s tone and shuddered. This wasn’t going to be easy. He forced himself to relax as he pulled the saddlebags that were slung over his shoulder onto his lap. “That won’t be a problem,” he tried hard to sound jovial. “Of course I would be happier if you had her morningstar with you, but that little knife you have will be very effectual against a group of mountain men, I’m sure.”

“DA!” He heard both fists hit the ground. 

_***hehe…don’t forget I diapered your butt and sat on Éomer King’s throne singing you our history before you were a day old! Okay, you were a week old before I diapered your butt but I still diapered it!***_

“I’ll just have a bite to eat before I go. Oh, look,” he exclaimed, over-brightly. “There is roast beef. Roast beef on fresh sour dough bread!”

“Roast Beef? Fresh sour dough?” He heard gravel roll and saw the shadow of her head peek around the tree. “Is there spicy mustard?”

Gamling made a great, noisy show of digging through the bags. “Aye. Spicy mustard and… oh look. Apple wine. Enough for two.”

There was the sound of scuttling and out of nowhere, Léoma plopped down next to him. She had Aefre’s deep brown Gondorian eyes and Gamling’s wild red hair, which she struggled to keep in a braid. She inherited his sisters’ long, lean legs and already at age fifteen summers, looked her mother in the eye. Truth be told, the ancient Riders said she favored Gamling’s mother, who in her younger years would turn a man’s head so fast, it would snap their necks. What his father did to capture her in marriage was downright under-handed. “I’m not allowed the apple wine. Ma… Mother said not yet.” She sighed, very heavy and very dramatically. “Sometimes, I think she thinks I’m still a baby.”

He passed her the wine skin. “Little sips,” he ordered, although he doubted the wine had any if much potency at all. “And don’t tell. Your grandmother still treats me like a baby! It’s what mothers do.” He took the wine skin from her and took a drink. 

_***BAH! WINE MY ARSE! APPLE WATER!!!! WheretospitwheretospitohBémaI’llswallow!GAAAAAH! ***_

The two removed the wrapped roast beef and bread and proceeded to make sandwiches. Léoma continued to sip the watered down apple wine. It eventually had the desired affect on her fifteen summers system.

“It’s so peaceful and quiet here.”

“Not at all like Edoras.”

“No. Not like Edoras. Da?” Léoma’s head was leaning on his shoulder and he tucked her under his arm when she wiggled closer. “How do you know when you’re in love?”

_***aha! An Elf! I knew it! Dréogan has another run left in him! I’ll put his war standards and armor on, we’ll run the poncy thing down, ground him into the dirt…***_

“Sweetheart,” Gamling began after a pause, “you might as well ask me how does the earth turn. Why does the sun rise and how does the moon wax and wane. I know none of these things. I’m just a simple Rider.”

“No!” Léoma jerked up, eyes wide, looking into his. “You’re not just a Rider! You’re a Marshal of the Riddermark! Théoden King’s right hand man-”

_*** I know I know I am so awesome***_

“-Éomer King considers you his trusted advisor! I heard him say so when he introduced you to the Elves! You’re my Da! You know everything!”

There was a lump in Gamling’s throat and for the life of him; he had no idea where it came from or how to get rid of it. “This is what I do know:” He laid a calloused finger on her nose, “Your mother is the air I breathe. If something were to happen to her, I would not wish to live. If something happened to you or to your brothers, I would die beserking to kill whoever hurt any of you.”

“My brothers?” her upper lip curled. “They are so disgusting. They… fart in the bath water.”

It was time for a little comeuppance. “Yes, even them and just so you know, I fart in the bath water.” She gasped.

_***probably why your mother won’t bathe with me hardly anymore. Hmmmm.***_

“OH, DISGUST!”

“Ah, it’s fun! Don’t feel bad. I felt the same way about your aunts.” He stopped for a moment, reminiscing. “Funny, we got older and realized we actually liked each other. Hey! Want to hear something funny?” Gamling dipped his head down towards his daughter’s ear. “Sulis used to call me ‘Stupidhead.’ She still does on occasion.”

Léoma was laughing. “Sulis is fun. Beornia has been so much fun this trip. She let me help her make bread yesterday and I took it out to Cynn. They are such a weird couple.”

“Weird, yes, but devoted.”

_***I’m glad she stayed, glad she fell in love again, glad her boys like him***_

Léoma giggled for a few minutes before becoming serious again. “No, really. I don’t understand this… love… stuff.” She turned, facing him while still tucked under his arm. “I mean… I remember when Abéodan got married. And when Aunt Beornia married Cynn and I think I remember when Willan married Eadignes.”

“You were quite young. Barely three summers.”

“I know. They got married in the barn. It was newly built and fresh and there were ribbons and banners and flowers.” She whispered, “Eadignes was ready to pop, I remember that. Her belly was so big!”

_***aye she made Willan wait and plead.***_

“And now Haleth and … and… and… I don’t know.” Her voice got very quiet. “And he is so beautiful and I don’t know why he makes my stomach clench.”

“Haleth?”

_***I’m going to kill him.***_

“NO!” she sounded shocked. “Not Haleth! Cele-” she cut herself off, both hands covering her mouth.

“Might as well finish it.”

She put her nose into Gamling’s leathers, something she hadn’t done since she was small and didn’t want anyone to know she was frightened. “Celeborn.”

_***dead elf. One dead elf coming up!***_

“Sweetling, Celeborn is-“

“Married! I know! To the most amazing elleth ever! The Lady of the Golden Wood, even if she went West! Did you really meet her? Was she really beautiful?”

“The Lady Galadriel was the most beautiful creature I have ever laid eyes on. She was as light as Arwen Queen is dark and when she spoke, one listened.”

“Oh.” Léoma pulled up, her arms thrown glumly around her knees. “So, she is truly beautiful” She sighed. “You know, Celeborn is really old.” Gamling closed his eyes. He knew it was coming. “He’s older than you, even.”

_***eyeroll. Thanks***_

“Celeborn is older than the Riddermark. He’s really, really, really old.”

“Ancient.”

“Aged.”

“Venerable.”

“Senior.”

“Over the Hill.”

“Decrepit.”

“Superannuated.”

“Very.”

“DA! Do you even know what that means?”

“Not a clue.”

It was quiet before she continued. “He’s probably shooting blanks.”

“Dust, even.”

It took a moment for what Gamling said to register, that her father, her Da, wasn’t admonishing her for unchaste or unladylike thoughts, was in fact was joking back with her. She burst out laughing, rolling away on the ground. She laughed until she coughed up the dirt she stirred. She finally stood up, arms crossed her chest and stared out in the direction of Edoras. “I’m so confused. Everyone is getting married, everything is beautiful, and I’m not ‘in love’ with Celeborn-”

_***perish the thought***_

“-but… I just don’t understand. When is it my turn? When will I know? How will I know? Will Béma come from the sky on his horse and bellow, ‘This is him! Better let him wrap you in his cloak!’ It’s just… scary.”

Gamling pulled himself up and it took him longer than he liked. As he stood behind his daughter, his fingers combed through her hair, removing the pine needles and leaves. Unconsciously, he began to braid it. 

“It’s called spring fever. That is what the name of it is. And when you've got it, you want - oh, you don't quite know what it is you do want, but it just fairly makes your heart ache, you want it so!” He finished the braid and pulled the metal clasp from his own to tie it off. His arms went around her as he rested his chin on the top of her head.

“Da? Will I ever be beautiful?”

“You’re already beautiful.”

“DA!” He hugged her tighter so she couldn’t turn on him and become a miniature of her mother, all fury and big words. Aefre was enough, thank you very much! “You’re supposed to think I’m beautiful! I mean… really! Will I ever be-”

“If you’re not going to like my answers, stop asking me questions! The day you were born, I thought you were beautiful! You were beautiful when you marched into the barn and demanded your own pony, you were beautiful when you bowled me over on the practice field and announced you didn’t want to be JUST a Shieldmaiden; you demanded I train you as a Rider and you are beautiful now!”

“I was not beautiful as a baby.” Léoma scowled disbelievingly up at him. “Babies are red and wrinkled and nasty when they’re born.”

Gamling’s mind wandered back to that early morning, before the sun had risen. It was cold, snowing and he was working himself into a frenzy in the barn because his mother kicked him out of their chambers. “The minute I laid eyes on you, I fell in love with you. You fit perfectly in the crook of my arm and I remember sitting in Éomer King’s chair as I showed you every banner hanging in Meduseld and sang you our history.” He let his words sink in for a moment. “Then you opened you mouth and started screaming because you were hungry and I couldn’t get you back to our rooms fast enough so your mother could feed you!” He squeezed for good measure before turning her loose. “At that moment, you were red and wrinkled and nasty. But you were still beautiful.” He took in the lowering of the sun. “We need to pack up and get a move on if we’re going to get back to Edoras before your mother has a search party sent out. Believe me, you do NOT want to find out Éomer King is hunting for you.”

“He gets mad?”

“Oh no!” Gamling picked up his saddlebags and started stuffing them with the leftovers and trash. He slung it over his shoulder. “He’ll embarrass Mordor out of you!” He leaned over towards her and hissed. “You will want to crawl under the barn! ” He winked. Even the muckpile is preferable to Éomer King pestering you!” 

Léoma was laughing as she pulled on her riding gloves. “I think you exaggerate!” 

Her hand was caught in a steely grasp, her father’s eyes glittering in the sunset. “Don’t ever throw a knife at me again. I will correct you. You will not like it.”

She gulped and her backside twitched. Gamling had ‘corrected’ her once and it was not an experience she ever wanted to repeat. She cried for days, not because of the switching she received but because she upset her father and she thought he hated her. “Yes sir.” They quietly retrieved their horses.

“Feel better?”

It took her a moment to think. “No. But I’ll be okay. It’s only life, after all.” She pulled up on her mount. “I’ll race you to Edoras!”

“Think you can beat me?”

Léoma smirked. “You and that old horse of yours? I think so.”

Gamling gave her a head start. He still won.

But barely.

 

***

Fini

***


	17. GF 16 - Purple

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> RoTM - during chapters 37 and 38 - takes place the morning of Gamling and Aefre's wedding. We know what went on in Gamling's room that morning. This is what went on in Aefre's room.

_**Purple**_

_**GF16**_

Timeline: Chapter 37-38 RoTM (the morning of Gamling and Aefre’s wedding) 

 

_The first thing I have done is go into my trunk to retrieve my grandmother’s mantle. The cloth is more delicate than I remember, but considering its age; why it must be nearly a century old. I have worn it before, as did my mother and her mother and it was given to her by her mother. All of grandmother’s sisters wore it. Many of the gold beads are discolored, lying loose in the bottom of the trunk, but I can see Eadignes itching to aid in sewing them back._

_**~~~…~~~**_

“Aefre! Are you dressed?” The door to hers and Gamling’s chambers rattled and Aefre nodded to Eadignes to open it. Sure enough, it was if a rush of people barreled through the door – all of Gamling’s sisters and their daughters. Aefre wanted sisters as a little girl; well now, she had more than her fair share.

The noise level rose ten-fold and before she knew what was happening, she found herself seated on a low chair, her long hair being braided and coiled. Her pins, pins from her family, Gamling’s family inserted everywhere, every which way…

Somewhere, Éowyn entered the room and with the authority of a queen, took over, adding more bits of jewelry to the bride’s hair, twisting the braids tighter. “You don’t want it to fall down. Béma forbid Gamling would not be able to perform his husbandly duties tonight!”

“That’s an old wives tale, Éowyn,” Aefre ribbed her. 

“Well, I’m sure you know that he has no problems,” Beornia sagely nodded, “but let’s not take chances.”

Once her hair was up, Aefre stood, motioning for the red overdress. Once that was slipped on, she motioned to Maida’s eldest to retrieve the mantle. “Gently please. It is quite old.”

“Older than me?” Aelwydd was almost giggling.

“Yes. It is.” Aefre was smiling when she said it. “It belonged to my grandmother.” For a fleeting moment, her face fell, the desire for the beloved woman’s presence so very obvious. Gamling’s mother caught it before it was tucked away. As the young teen passed the ancient mantle to her soon-to-be-aunt, Sulis’ youngest, Gaberas, reached out to touch it.

“Color?” It was obvious it was not a hue she was familiar with.

The day before, the little one and a new found Elvish friend caused quite the commotion by simply playing together and Aefre already had a soft spot for her. She bent down, so she was eye to eye with the little girl. “It is purple, a special color, indeed. Do you like it?”

Gaberas nodded enthusiastically. 

“Then perhaps, when you marry, we’ll make you one as well. Would you like that?”

Gaberas grinned. She touched it again as it was passed and Aefre stood up to place it over her shoulders.

“Puraple,” the child whispered. “Pwetty.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a cross stitch piece (I've done it, but this one isn't mine. Actually, in mine, 'Meduseld' in the background isn't finished yet.) that inspired Aefre's wedding gown. It is by Told in a Garden. 
> 
> [](http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v152/ZeeDippyVessel/Fic%20Artwork/?action=view&current=Aefreinherweddingdress.jpg)


	18. DF 56 - Madness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rated PG13 for dark, gloomy, mean nasty psychotic young Gifre.

__

The Diary 

__

DF56 – Madness 

Timeline – Rider chapter 46

_***Éomer has asked me again to befriend Eadlyn. He asks every time he sees me. He says what Gifre did to me and my family was horrific, but he honed his sick skills on her, for many years. Éowyn has now come forward and whispered of the ravings she heard while they talked to her. My heart breaks: no human being should be forced to endure… and while I was nursing Léoma, Gamling told me the things the man whispered in the holding cell…laughed about while riding to his death… sick… sick man. He needed to die…***  
_

 

He smiled at them. 

_It was his winningest , most brilliant smile. Anything to make them think he was happy, loved them. After all, they loved him, thought he as wonderful. He was The Son, The Heir, their perfect wonderchild._

_Little did they know, he hated them._

_He plotted in the dark of the night their deaths, the destruction of their home, the farm. He hated the animals, hated his sister, them. Them with their perfect lives, the respect from the servants, their kindness. One shouldn’t have to be kind to a servant. Their job was to serve; who cared if they liked it or not. They were there to please him, please whomever they were ordered to please._

_He hated holidays; why did Yule come just once a year? Every day should be Yule. There should be gifts and treats and special dishes every day, not just once a year. And why must it be in the dead of winter? That was utterly stupid! Whose bright idea was that?_

_He hated the nursemaid. He had grabbed her in while he was in the tub some days previously, demanding she kiss him down there as he had seen her kissing Cempa, the captain of the guard earlier in the season in the barn. She was on her knees in front of the man; he liked the thought of that. She slapped him and told him he was now old enough to bathe himself. He hated the captain too. Cempa caught him alone in the barn the next day and told him under no certain terms that if he were caught skulking and spying on people, it would not go well for him._

_As if he were in charge. Perhaps he could find something nasty to put in the man’s bed. Or better yet, in the stable with his horse. It would serve him right. Maybe he would just take his knife, the one he had stolen from his father’s weapondry room and cut the man’s throat… or cut off the nursemaid’s tits._

_Or kill Cempa’s horse. He loved that horse. Kill him, cut his throat and cut off his legs…like he had done with the wild ferret he’d found near the woods._

_Aye, he hated them all. Wanted them all dead and he would be lord of everything. No one would tell him to go to bed, don’t do this; you can’t have that before dinner. The floors would run with blood…_

_Hate them. Kill them…_

Gifre looked up at his mother, holding up her paltry, insignificant Yule gift. 

And smiled.

“Thank you, Mama. It’s lovely.”

 

_Tbc_

 

Cempa - Champion


	19. GF14 - Green

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rated G

__

GF14 

__

Green 

Timeline: RotM Chapter 40

_Gondor! We are going to Gondor! Gamling says it’s beautiful, like a white dais rising from the Earth! I am, of course, excited about the wedding, but he spoke of a hanging garden he wanted to show me and I am sure it is beautiful. Funny thing, Éowyn asked a favor of me, about Snowmane’s grave on the Fields… of course, I agreed…_

The noise about Edoras, even this early in the morning, was already drifting through the open window, Within the hour, it would drown out the birdsong, if not sooner. Aefre stood by the bed, Gamling already dressed and gone to the courtyard to prepare the horses for the long journey to Gondor. All of their saddlebags and luggage, save one pair, were taken by young men to the stables, packed and to be loaded.

For the umpteenth time, Aefre double-checked her own clothing. After seeing how the Elves dressed to travel, she figured she would set a few tongues wagging. She checked the ties around the leggings, her waistline long gone, covered by a burgundy Rohirrim tunic. _Much more comfortable than long skirts._ Riding to her wedding in her finery, she quietly vowed never to ride in skirts again if she could help it.

There was one thing left to do… good clean soil from the Mark and hopefully Simbelmynë seed, to spread over Snowmane’s resting place. A little bit of Rohan in Gondor. Wouldn’t hurt those uppity Gondorians a bit…

Aefre bit back the thought. She picked up the empty saddlebag and water skin and realized her husband had left his new cloak lying across the bed. With a smile, she picked up the fine green woolen wrap and turning to make sure no one was in the hallway, quickly wrapped herself in it. Already, it smelled of him, of leather and air…

And that’s how Willan found her….


	20. DF 95 - Need

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aefre is forced to take certain matters into her own hands.

****

The Diary 

****

DF 95 Need 

The DC 095 – Need  
Timeline RotM 47 – 7 weeks after the birth of Léoma.  
Rating – hard R

_  
*Finally! Seven weeks! I have dropped hint after hint only to have them fall on deaf ears! Or worse! ‘My Lady, I don’t think you’ve healed enough.’ I have healed plenty, the big oaf! I thought I would have to take Beornia’s advice and get him drunk…does he have any idea how much I need him? How much I’ve missed him?*_

_***_

_He was dreaming._

_He knew he was. They were celebrating his daughter’s birth in the Great Hall and Théoden King was at the head of the table, looking happier and heartier than Gamling could ever remember… his father, Gamhelm… toasting everyone who walked by._

_Toast after drunken toast was made to the babe, and then it went downhill. Ribald comment after ribald comment that had nothing to do with the child’s health…_

_And somewhere the women showed up… whores from the brothel. Some he recognized, some he didn’t. There was dancing and music, bits and pieces of clothing were being flung…there was a singer, one Gamling never recalled hearing, singing a song never meant to be sung in public…_

__**Now everybody  
** Have you heard  
If you're in the game  
Then the stroke's the word 

_It was becoming quite the stag party._

_Gamling hadn’t been to a party like this in ages. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he could affirm he had sworn off parties like this one years and years ago. They tended to leave one disoriented, hung over, unable to remember much of anything – and what you could remember, you wish you couldn’t – and desperately needing to bathe. He shifted uncomfortably in his chair, recognizing he was becoming aroused, hard and stiff. At some point, Théoden disappeared and Éomer took the king’s place, two comely wenches, one on each knee. Despite the height of the table, he could clearly see where one had undone Éomer’s trousers and was now stroking the obscene length of him for all to see. The second one, who looked vaguely like the Princess of Dol Amroth, was perched up, her bodice undone and shoved down around her elbows, Éomer lavishly feasting on impossibly large breasts._

_The orgy was now beginning and the minstrel was strolling around the table._

_**Put your right hand out  
Give a firm handshake ** _

_He looked down, embarrassed, to see his own erection sprung free from the lacings and unfeasibly huge._

_‘Gamling.’ The Marshal looked up to see the King staring him down from the chest of the princess. He licked the very engorged nipple being thrust in his mouth. He nodded to the now naked wench on his other knee. ‘Take her.’ The girl turned and looked at him, her features now filling out, sharply resembling Eadignes._

_He shook his head no._

_‘Look at yourself, man.’ Willan was standing behind the king, his voice a deep, whispering, rumble. ‘She’s willing. Take her.’_

_Again, he shook his head no. ‘My wife-‘_

_Éomer now nodded to the chair across the table from him._

_Aefre sat, eyes down, hands folded quietly in her lap. She looked up slowly, the heat in her gaze obvious and well recognized by her husband, ignoring the debauchery now going on about her._

_‘Take her.’ It was whispered._

_‘I need you, Gamling.’ Her voice murmured in his head, her mouth not moving. ‘Please.’_

_‘Be the man, be the Rider! Take her!’_

_The group was now chanting over and over…_

_Take her take her take her take her take her take her take her take her take her take her…_

_The minstrel was now behind Aefre, singing in her ear.._  
 **  
**Stroke me, stroke me  
Could be a winner boy you move mighty well 

_Éomer was laughing._

_Aefre continued to sit demurely, eyes like burning coals pinning him useless to his chair._

_Please, Gamling. I need you._

_They were now beating their tankards in rhythm on the table, Éomer howling and mimicking, making the women in his lap screech and join him… ‘I neeeeeed you…’_

_Take her take her take her take her take her take her take her take her take her take her…_

_He was throbbing…_

_‘Please.’_

_Take her take her take her take her take her take her take her take her take her take her…_

_Gamling vaguely wished someone would shoot the minstrel._  
 **  
**Stroke me, stroke me  
Say you're a winner but man  
You're just a sinner now 

_With a roar and unable to take any more, Gamling leapt over the table, reaching for his wife. As he pulled her forward onto the board, he swept dishes, food, and goblets aside and into the air, drenching one of the Hobbits. He was vaguely aware of the howling, cheering from the gallery, as the two of them became the night’s entertainment. Her skirts were bunched up around her waist, legs spread…_

_He was throbbing in rhythm with the chanting, the drumming on the table._

_Take her take her take her take her take her take her take her take her take her take her…_

_The minstrel was on the table, standing with his lute behind the Marshal._

__**Put your left foot out  
** Keep it all in place  
Work your way  
Right into my face 

_Take her take her take her take her take her take her take her take her take her take her…_

_He felt her hand cupping his chin… Please Gamling… I need you…_

_…and with no warning, no preparation, he plunged in, into dry, tight, unyielding heat…_  
  
*** 

Gamling sat up straight, the furs falling to his waist. He was in a sweat, breathing heavily…

And pulsating. There would be no taming this one tonight. No amount of cold air or-

“Gamling?” In the shadows, his wife turned, straightening up from returning Léoma to her cradle. She hitched her nightdress, covering her breast, where she obviously had recently detached their daughter’s mouth. She reached for the nearby small lamp and brought it to the bed. “Are you a-right?”

“Fine,” he panted. “I am fine.”

She set the lamp down on the undersized table by their bed and pulled the furs back further. “No.’ She shook her head, with a devilish smile. “You are not.”

He yanked them back up. “I’ll take care of it. No need to worry yourself. You need your rest.” 

Aefre clucked her tongue once, before reaching for the hem of her gown and pulling it over her head. There were lines, not so angry anymore, across her abdomen, but her figure for the most part, had returned to its former shape. Aefre had not been a lithe, slender woman, even before the pregnancy, instead possessing glorious womanly curves, with hips and breasts that swayed enticingly. She threw the furs back, grabbing one of the small vials that they kept on side stand. “Gamling.” She dusted the air with her hand, cutting off his retort. “That looks painful and I’m tired of dropping hints. I’m ready to return our bed to its previous happy marital status! Enough is enough!” She blew out the lamp and climbed up, straddling him, settling on his thighs. The room was now gently bathed in firelight. Very tenderly, she reached down and stroked him, her thumb worrying with the head.

Gamling fell back on the pillows, gasping. “Aefre, please.” He attempted to push her hand away. “I’ll take care of this and you can get some rest.”

“No loving wife would leave her beloved husband alone to deal with that stiff a battle lance.” She pushed his hand away. “And I do love you.”

“Aefre,” he tried again. “’Tis been too long. I will not last, not long enough to prepare you, much less give you any satisfaction whatsoever.” He inhaled sharply the scent of apples as her now well-oiled hand grasped him firmly, stroking, making sure he was well-lubricated.

“Silly man,” she whispered, “that would be a given seeing how we’ve been over eight weeks sleeping with an invisible wall between us. You will learn that my joy is not about me.” With that, she lifted up and settled herself on him, sliding down the well-greased shaft. She let out a long sigh as she buried him to the hilt. “Aaaaah love… I have missed you so.”

In the dark, Gamling’s eyes rolled up into the back of his head, thoroughly done in by the feel of her. “Aefre, please. I’m afraid to move.”

“Then,” she lifted and settled again, “don’t.” She leaned over, cradling his head, the tip of her breast brushing against his cheek. By sheer instinct, he rooted, nuzzling the soft flesh before…

“Go ahead. You’re curious and she is full.”

… clamping down, 

She undulated… “You want it-“

_…one…_

his tongue lavishing sweet… “I’ve missed you-“

_…two…_

…she ground down… “-need you so bad-“

_...three…_

His hands moved from her waist to rounded, fleshy hips, grasping firm cheeks, thumbs finding, stroking the cleft, “Why did you wait so long-“

Pulling her down _… four…_ rising to meet her…

“Please…”

He exploded, burying his face and moans in between her breasts. Aefre wrapped her hands around his head, taking him in, throbbing flesh against her, pressing both into the bed. She listened to him gasp, felt him jerk, spasm against her juncture. After what felt like some minutes, he relaxed, falling backwards onto the bed and pillows. Aefre sat perched, firelight glowing about her and looking as the most satisfied cat. “Feel better?”

Gamling slung his arm over his eyes. “Béma, you have no idea. I was terrified I would hurt you and now I’m too exhausted to give you any recourse.”

She slid off his lap, curling up next to him, her leg thrown over damp thighs. “Now was not about me. Tomorrow night,” and she nuzzled him at this, teasing his nipple, “will be about me.” She yawned and snuggled in. “Good night, bonehead.”

Gamling grinned, despite himself. “Aye, I’ll have a bone for you tomorrow night.” He turned his head to wink at her. “Maybe I won’t wait until tomorrow night!” He kissed her forehead, already hearing her breathing deepen. “Ic ferhþlufu ðu…”

 

_The Stroke  
Billy Squier _


	21. DF 96 Jealousy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Late term pregnancy. Crabby Queen. Pooooor Eomer...

****

The Diary 

**  
  
**

DF 96 

**  
  
**

Jealousy 

Timeline RotM. Harvest after chapter 47

_Poor Lothiriel. She is so tiny to carry such a huge baby! I dare say the babe she carries will be as long as she is tall when she finally delivers. She is well over-due and still high. I am going to speak with Eadignes and Helgarda to see if there is anything we can give her to hurry the process along._

 

Lothiriel sat in the padded chair, unwieldy, unable to move hardly at all. Her moods swung with alarming frequency and Éomer tiptoed around her like a beaten puppy. She felt bad about that. He tried so hard. He rubbed her feet, rubbed her back, rubbed oil on her grotesquely swollen stomach.

He lied to her. She wanted to hate him for it. 

He lied. To her!

Gamling and Aefre arrived the night before with their entourage, at Lothiriel’s request and to her horror, she saw that Aefre was large with child again. She shouldn’t be traveling, not in her condition. Aefre reassured her she really wasn’t as far along as she looked. ‘Twins!’ she whispered. ‘Two! To watch that man of mine, you would think he hung the moon and rode with Béma himself!’ 

Still, she sat in the chair, in the Golden Hall, chin propped on her fist, frowning and sullen. They brought with them Willan, a tall mute that everyone seemed to adore and his child and his wife…

Lothiriel decided she was the problem. She was the reason the Queen was biting off every head in the Hall. What was her name? Eadignes… yes… so similar to Eadig… Éomer Eadig… and Eadignes…

_The Whore…_

The Whore, that’s what the serving woman told Lothiriel the evening before when they arrived. “I cannot believe it, my Queen. They brought _The Whore_ with them to help you birth your baby. So disrespectful. She worked at the Blue Whale, was a favorite of them all.” With a knowing wink, Lothiriel immediately realized that her husband was one of the ‘all’…

Her mood dropped further…

“My Lady?” Lothiriel looked up from her vile inner musings, only to stare into the eyes of That Whore. “Would you like some tea? I have a-“

“NO!” Lothiriel spat. She was so loud, the entire hall came to a dead silence, everyone staring at her. “I want nothing from you!”

“I’m… I’m… sorry ma’am…” Eadignes backed away, tears building up. She rushed to Aefre’s side, lips moving, obviously confused. Aefre patted her and sent her to her husband, who removed her from the hall, looks of pity aimed at her.

“My Queen.” Aefre now stood before her, looking every bit as imperial as Lothiriel wished she felt. “Have you been outside today?”

“No.” It was sullen, almost a spoilt child. “My feet are swollen and they hurt.” She stuck out a bare foot, just for good measure. “See?”

Aefre smiled. “Just as I thought. You need air and a lot of water. Just Gamling!” she called to her husband, “go to the kitchens and get the largest pitcher you can find, fill it with fresh spring water and two mugs and meet us in the garden with them.” She tapped her lip. “Oh. And bring pillows. Lots of pillows.” He started towards the kitchens. “Oh! And fruit.” He turned around, now walking backwards, in order to face her as she shouted out orders. “Find an orange or some cherries or blackberries to put in it!” 

“Anything else, My Lady?” He still continued to walk backwards, hands spread in question.

Aefre pretended to ponder. “I’ll let you know.”

“Lady Aefre,” Lothiriel whined, “I cannot fit in my slippers.”

“No, I’m sure you can’t, but,” Aefre continued with a smile, “I’ll bet you can wear Éomer’s woolen stockings!” She motioned to the King. Éomer tread softly over gently, ever aware of his wife’s sudden moods. “The Queen and I wish to sit in the garden and soak up the sunshine and as you can see,” she lifted the Queen’s dress enough for very swollen toes to show, “her slippers will not fit. Would you be so kind as to bring as to bring us a couple of your woolens and a pair of your boots?”

Éomer’s brow knotted but he readily agreed and off he went.

“Éomer’s boots would be huge on me, Lady Aefre.”

“Aye they will be, however, you’ll be comfortable and they’ll save you from stepping on rocks and such that would make your mood more sour.”

The King returned in short order and with as much love as Aefre had seen in her own husband, put his woolens and an old pair of boots on his wife’s normally tiny, dainty feet. He held out both hands to help her up. As Lothiriel made her way towards the double doors, the noise she made, dragging the boots…

“I sound ghastly.”

“No,” Aefre jested, “You sound like a drunken sot! Your temper, however, is ghastly and we are going to fix that!” She gestured grandly to the guards and demanded they open the doors. A pregnant woman was in need of sunshine. Now! As Lothiriel slowly made her way to the door, Aefre turned to Éomer. “Find Eadignes and have her make a pot of the Elf Lord’s tea she just offered Lothiriel and have her bring it to us.”

“Are you sure you wish Eadignes to do so, after my wife just bellowed at her?” Éomer ran his fingers through his hair. “I have never heard her bellow!”

Aefre scrunched her face in thought. “I have a feeling I know what it is and when I put a name to the person who did it, I’m going to blister her ears!”

“What did Eadignes do before?” Aefre nodded her head at him, eyes all knowing. Dire dawning lit on Éomer’s features. “Oooooooooh no! Oh no! That was long ago, before… well not since before the war! I didn’t… she’s not… Béma!” He was raking his fingers through his hair.

“Aye.” Aefre turned and headed to the door, behind her queen. “Right now, your queen is feeling fat, frumpy and completely unlovable. She’s uncomfortable, among other things. I might be able to help.” She began to whistle, muttering between her teeth. “I might not.”

~~~***~~~ 

It was a sunny day in Edoras. The air was crisp and the smell from the barn was being blown in the opposite direction. There were some late blooming flowers and herbs, so the garden wasn’t looking as desolate as it would in a few weeks. Gamling and Éomer brought pillows and more pillows and quilts that were piled and arranged on the ground. They helped both women to the earth, Gamling teasing Aefre good-naturedly about her unwieldiness. Water was poured for both women and the pitcher left within reach, before the men finally left and left the two to soak up the sunshine.

“Ah,” Aefre smiled, her face lifted into the sunlight. “I wish I had some sort of mirror or reflector to aim the sun at my face and give it a nice, healthy glow.”

Lothiriel sat flat, both feet shod in Éomer’s boots, stuck straight out in front of her. “I look ridiculous!” She thunked her feet together, listening to the sound the footwear made. Her face split into a grin, “I look absolutely preposterous in Éomer’s boots!” She thunked them again before her smile faded. “You brought me out here, away from people, for a reason.”

“Aye.”

“I can’t leave if I get mad and don’t want to hear what you have to say.”

“No, you can’t.”

“I was quite rude to the midwife you brought.”

“Aye, you were.” Aefre glanced at the queen sideways. “I wonder if it was a fit of pregnancy peak or something else?”

Lothiriel finished her water and poured another mug full. It was cool and crisp and tasted as if cherries had been dipped in it. Some would think it would be shameful how Gamling doted on his wife, but Éomer doted on her as well…

“I do not understand the need to bring a midwife with you. There are plenty here.”

“Helgarda? Helgarda is blind as a bat! With her husband now deceased, she plans on moving to Gamling’s family ranch in the Westemnet.” Aefre snorted. “Eadignes is a talented healer and more than capable midwife. So tell me,” and with this, Aefre nailed Lothiriel to the pillow she was sitting on with her very gaze, “why did you snap at Eadignes of all people?”

Lothiriel was now feeling quite petty. “Because,” she snapped, “she’s a whore and she slept with Éomer!”

For a time, there was no sound but bird song and crickets. “You are wrong,” Aefre bit back quietly. 

“So she didn’t sleep with Éomer!” 

Aefre was now pouring herself another mug of water. She made a mental note to kiss her husband later for putting cherries in the water. She had been craving cherries for an entire moon and there wasn’t a single one to be found in the Wold! “I don’t know if she slept with Éomer or not.”

“So, the serving woman lied to me?”

“Lothiriel, Eadignes _was_ a whore, but she gave up the profession during the war. I have no idea if she slept with Éomer or not, I am not privy to that information and I would not ask. I would guess that she did sleep with him, just as I know for fact she slept with Gamling and probably almost every other Horselord in Edoras, in addition to others that were visiting.” She took a long drink, ignoring Lothiriel’s slack, shocked jaw. “Except Elfhelm,” she continued matter-of-factly. “I would say considering her youth and Elfhelm’s long, happy marriage to his wife, and his wife’s penchant for beaning ignorant people with her frying pan, as well as her ability to curse a rock into submission, Eadignes has not slept with Elfhelm!” She nodded once in affirmation.

“How can you stand to have her in your home?” Lothiriel’s voice was incredulous and Aefre sighed at the stubbornness of the young.

Wisdom comes with age and years ago, Aefre had dealt with the same insecurities as a young bride with Lufian. “I was married before Gamling, to the former Captain of the main garrison in the Wold… Lufian. He was a beautiful man, both inside and out and quite a bit older than me. But… he was a man! “ She smiled at the memory of her long-deceased husband, still beloved deep in her heart. “We married when I was young and impressionable. I had no clue on how to deal with a hall, the garrison. Quite inexperienced, to be sure. My father’s home and garrison was much smaller and I was completely out of my element when I moved into Lufian’s dwelling.”

“The cook took me under her wing. She was older, wiser and widowed. She had a son learning to break and ride his first horse – quite the grown up thing, here in the Riddermark. She taught me so much.” She smiled mirthlessly. “Of course after a few weeks, one of the more gossipy servants took me to the side and informed me that the cook had spread herself for my husband for quite some time. It infuriated me.” One of Aefre’s babies decided at that moment to lurch, causing Aefre to squirm and gently push the offending knee or elbow into a more pleasing position. “My husband was in the barn, which, if you’ve not discovered yet, is the grandest place to have a rip-roaring argument.”

Lothiriel was giggling. “No. Why is that?”

“Because it is also the best place to make up after the argument! Rather than yell back at me for my insidious resentment, he gently told me of a terrified, lonely young widow, with a more frightened child, and a very forlorn man on a stormy night during a snow squall. They did become lovers for a time, but the affair was over, long before he began to court me. How could I blame him or her for something so long gone and so long past? He married me for a reason, not her.”

The two women spent the next few minutes, rearranging unborn babies and drinking cool water.

“What happened to the cook?” 

“ Oh,” Aefre was musing on a late blooming briar rose. “She is still my cook and she is still a dear friend. What that woman can do to a suckling pig is sinful. She married one of the older Riders after I married Lufian and they had several more children. She was widowed again during the war and refuses to look at another man. I rather think if Cælin continues to be patient, he might catch her eye by next spring.”

It was quiet for a time before Lothiriel spoke again. “About Eadignes…”

“Bad things happen to good people, Lothiriel. You know by now not to judge by a single flaw. Eadignes’ mother was a whore, as was her grandmother. She knows not who her father was, much less her grandfather. She simply wanted better for herself and for any child she might have. She saved Gamling’s life when he returned from the war.” She motioned for Lothiriel’s clay goblet and filled it with more water. 

“Gamling’s éored was attacked by orcs not far south of Edoras and he rode through the gates slit from his hip to his underarm, through his armor. I cannot begin to imagine how much blood he lost.” Aefre’s eyes misted up from the memory. “The healers were busy with all the injuries and Helgarda informed me she couldn’t see, so I needed to sew him up.” She lifted her own goblet. “Thing is, I can’t sew a stitch, so I told her to bring me someone who could sew. She didn’t want to bring the girl to my rooms… at that point, I didn’t care if it was a whore in the brothel and I told her that. Gamling was in my bed, bleeding more than I’ve ever seen a human bleed. I was terrified he would bleed to death or that I would do such a horrible job he would be crippled for life and would blame me. What makes it worse, is I look back now with the knowledge that I carried Léoma and did not know it. Had I lost him…” Aefre’s voice choked up. 

“But they sent me a young, plump girl, falling out of her bodice and wearing paint on her face. She had him rolled over; drunk because the job would be a painful one, helped me clean the wound and then sewed him up without batting an eye. I was impressed with her spunk and the fact she brooked no nonsense from a Horse Lord who was respected and feared by his men. And then she sat with me until his fever broke.” Aefre tried to pull her knees up, but realized she couldn’t. 

“In the meantime, I got her tipsy, and she talked, my oh my, how that girl talked. She was in love with Gamling, you know.” Lothiriel gasped. “She never challenged me, not once. Do you know why? Because she was a whore and didn’t think she had the right to love anyone! Can you imagine thinking you don’t have the RIGHT to love ANYONE, just because of what you do for a living? She knew he wasn’t for her and she set her sights on something loftier… an occupation that would get her out of the whorehouse. So I helped her get out of the whorehouse.” Aefre drained her goblet. “Not once did she backslide, not once did she waver. She and Helgarda argued… Riders would hide out in the corners, around the edges of the buildings, just to hear those two go at it. It was almost comical! And then,” and here Aefre smiled, “she fell in love with Willan… and Willan fell in love with her. She heard his heart speak and his love purified and forgave her. He doesn’t care what she was; he loves who she is and who she has become.” Finally, the pitcher was empty and both women set their goblets down on the blankets. 

“Gamling was over forty summers when he took me to his furs the first time. He was no fumbling virgin and to this day, ensures my pleasure. He is a considerate, thoughtful, giving lover.”

Lothiriel nodded. She could say the same for Éomer. From their first night, when she was terrified at the thought of removing her clothing for the first time or thinking she would do something wrong, he was gentle and persuasive. He told her he intended to make sure she enjoyed her wedding night and she had!

“Lufian taught me to please him. That was because he knew what pleased him. He watched me please myself, so he would know what I liked.” The Queen’s eyes grew huge… Éomer swore that watching her pleasure herself made him hornier than a teenager! “I took that knowledge to Gamling’s furs and somewhere, Gamling knew how to please me. Aye, we’ve experimented… we communicated our needs and desires, which is how one should do that sort of thing. He pleases me from past knowledge and I please him.” Aefre picked up the pitcher and upturned it, sliding the cherries out from the bottom. She picked up one and dropped it in her mouth, before looking at Lothiriel. “I would never denounce or deny one iota or grain of warmth, kindness, and comfort he sought from anyone’s bed or arms before me. That includes Eadignes. He married me, not Eadignes.” And with this, she reached over and touched the young queen gently on the wrist. “Would you deny Éomer that?”

“No. You are right.” Lothiriel’s head dropped in shame. “I feel like such an orc! I need to apologize to her.”

“You will get that chance shortly.” Aefre pointed to the side door, Eadignes carefully coming through it with an obviously hot pot of tea. “But don’t tell her you were angry because of who she used to be. Tell her it was the discomfort of the babe. “ Aefre’s voice dropped to a conspiratorial whisper. “She’s very sensitive. That was her biggest stumbling block; what people would continue to think.” Aefre looked up with a smile. “Ah! Eadignes! Is that the wonderful relaxing tea from Lord Elrond’s book?”

Eadignes dipped to Lothiriel, a blush across her cheeks. “Yes ma’am.” She began to pour tea into both women’s goblets.

Lothiriel saw the blush, the shame and she wanted to kick herself for her earlier spite. Without wasting time, she apologized to the young woman, the woman who would deliver her child in the next few days. “I do not know what came over me. I have been so cranky and it doesn’t help that Éomer lies to me.”

“What do you mean, he lies to you?” Aefre sat up as straight as she could, indignant as an expectant mother could be.

“Lies? Éomer?” Eadignes was in complete disbelief.

The Queen was frowning. “He tells me over and over I’m beautiful. I am not! I’m waddling like a duck and I’m fat-“

Aefre burst out laughing and Eadignes covered her mouth with her hand. “Oh dear.”

“Ah, Lothiriel!” Aefre finally stopped laughing. Eadignes set the pot down and returned to the Golden Hall, her shoulders shaking with mirth. “Éomer isn’t lying! You are beautiful!”

“But I’m fat-“

“You are PREGNANT! There is a difference.” Aefre reached over and grabbed her hand. “Yes, your body will change, but it will return to a more normal shape. Your hips will spread a bit, your nipples will turn brown. Gamling didn’t care. He still plays with mine anyway. Moreso, truth be told! I guarantee you, when Éomer looks at you, he sees you bursting literally with life! Life he planted with in your womb! I suspect he is puffed up as an adder and bragged like he did all the work when you confirmed your pregnancy.” Lothiriel hummed her agreement while sipping her tea. “When I told Gamling I was expecting Léoma, we kept it secret until after Aragorn and Arwen’s wedding, as you know. He was fascinated feeling her kick and move. He called her his ‘Little Thumper.’” Her hands curved down to caress her womb. “The one on this side,” she caressed the right, “is larger and quieter. He moves here and there, to make sure I know he’s there. This one,” she stroked her left side, “never stops. Always in motion. They will keep me hopping when they arrive.”

The two sat for a time longer, sipping tea, discussing the up-coming birth, Lothiriel’s fears and concerns. Eventually…

“Aefre? I need to go to the bathroom. All this water and tea…”

“Will have run through you and helped with the swelling. Here,” She started to twist to get to her feet. “let me… uhm… uh oh…”

“What?”

Aefre continued to twist back and forth. “I can’t get up.”

~~~***~~~

Léoma was giggling. “I was horrible when I was pregnant.”

“Yeah,” the older of her two brothers snorted. “We remember.”

“You do not!” she retorted! “You weren’t even here! You,” she pointed to the red-head “were garrisoned down near Firen Wood and you,” she stabbed her finger at the youngest, “were over near Amon Hen.”

“Léoma,” the youngest began patiently, “I was never stationed at Amon Hen.”

“Yes, you were.” 

”No, I wasn’t.”

“Oh please don’t start!” Gamling’s spit threw his head back. “We’ll have Éomer King and the entire household back in here and I don’t think a so-called loud discussion excuse will suffice again!” He tapped the sheet his sister had just laid on the stack. “We should share these with Éomer King and Lothiriel. They would… Léoma?” 

She was turning red and shaking her head back and forth, staring wide-eyed at the next sheet. “Oooooh no. I don’t think so…”


	22. GF 20 - Colorless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Éomer tries to take a shower...

****

The Diary 

****

_Love, Rohirrim Style.  
From chapter 14_

 _*Béma! They are worse than rabbits! Good thing the Queen asked me about lore to keep her from getting pregnant the first year…they’ll be having a babe every year at this rate!*_

 

The water was colorless, clear as crystal. 

The slow ride back to Rohan was taking its toll on the younger members of the wedding éored and when scouts discovered the small, shaded lake ahead, it was decided they would stop there and stay several days. There were many trees and bushes and the ladies in the party rejoiced in the warm water. His wife was one of that gaggle of women down in the lake, laughter and female companionship carried through the air. She came back, smelling of roses or something floral.

Éomer stunk; he knew he stunk and normally he would care less that he smelled to high heaven, but his wife’s nose curled because she wasn’t used to the smell of sweaty riders. Their marriage bed was still too new, too fresh for him to not care.

Pray to Béma he never reached that point.

So in the twilight, when the moon was up, the first star was twinkling, and families made their way to their cookfires, with children being put snug in the furs, Éomer made his way quietly to the secluded shore. There was a small alcove a ways off, with a small waterfall, and a low lying ledge, and after placing his clean clothing on the bushes, he waded into the water, sweaty clothing and all, his bathing kit clenched in his fist.

The kit was a gift from Elfhelm and his wife, a curious thing with a drawstring, but easy enough to put soap and special vials of cleansers for his hair in it. He reached the alcove and put the kit on a small ledge. The lake was shallow here; the shelf rose up, only coming to the upper curve of his hip and for a time, he stood in the low waterfall, relishing the fall of the water over him.

He peeled his clothing and used soap loaned to him by Gamling on his garments. Thank Béma, it wasn’t flowery or sweet smelling; it smelled of pine. After he laid it up on the rock, he bathed and washed himself thoroughly; Lothiriel was expressing more and more curiosity in tasting and exploring him much as he tasted her in the privacy of their furs. He wondered how thick the walls were in his uncle’s…no… the king’s chambers, because he planned to test them. 

There was a scuttling in the small rocks above the ledge and Éomer raised an eyebrow. Whose youngling was out and about or…

…his eyes narrowed. He made his way back to the waterfall, as if to enjoy the water massage again. However as he reached the closest part of the low lying ledge, he jumped up, grabbing the miscreant from the ledge and throwing them into the deeper part of the lake behind him. There was a high-pitched screech as the body hit the water.

Éomer reached over and seized the mischief maker by the scruff of their tunic and pulled up…

“Lothiriel?”

She jumped up, gasping by the sudden immersion, hair dripping and in her face, her dress, transparent and as colorless as the water. She held her hands in front of her, aghast at the water dripping from her fingers… but mostly from being caught. “I’m wet!” she accused him.

Éomer had a smirk on his face. “If you wanted to see me naked, all you had to do is ask.”

She had the decency to look sheepish. “The tent is small and the material is thin. If the lamp is on, everyone outside can see everything.” 

He looked at her in the moonlight, dusky nipples perking through the opaque material. “Princess, they could see more of you now!” She ducked her head, avoiding his eyes. He pulled her to him. “Did I hurt you?”

“No.” She was still looking down and she smiled jauntily. “Just my pride.” Her arm stole around him. “I admit it was rather erotic, watching you in the moonlight.”

At the word ‘erotic,’ his mind began to work in typical male fashion. He pulled her in close and whispered in her ear. “Would like to ride the Mearas in the water?” 

“Are you up for it?”

Éomer’s jaw dropped. “Saucy wench. Am I up for it, indeed!” Reaching down, he pulled her soaked dress over her head and slung it with the rest of his wet things. He pulled her deeper in the water, his hair floating in the depths. “Come follow me and find out…”

~~~…~~~ 

"That's it?" The youngest looked rather... eh?

Léoma shook her head. "Noooo." She laid down the just read sheet. "It gets worse..."

~~~...~~~ 

This piece was largely inspired by the artwork 'Éomer and Lothiriel' by Hope Hoover. This was NOT made for me, and no infringement or claim is made by me. It's just a beautiful beautiful piece of artwork. (All of her stuff is beautiful!)

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/albums/v152/ZeeDippyVessel/Fic%20Artwork/?action=view&current=Lothiriel_and_Eomerhopehoover.jpg)


	23. DF 98 Beg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lothiriel desires to be taught. Eomer obliges. 
> 
> pg13/soft R

****

The Diary 

****

DF 098 - Beg 

_LRS @ chapter 14 – after the wedding…_

_Éomer and Lothiriel are so funny. Any excuse to disappear, lock themselves away…Both of them keep the silliest grins on their faces. I asked Gamling if he remembered being young and in love and he responded by taking me right there on the chaise lounge chair in our room. Randy man! Last night, we swapped rooms with the king and his bride. Gamling threatened to sleep in the floor – said it felt weird to make love in the bed Lothiriel and Éomer consummated their marriage in not three nights past. He got over that fast enough. I left the scarves for them in our room…_

***

Sweat trickled down his brow. Bad enough he felt it; he could see it in that mirror above them.

He asked for it. Well, not really. But…

She asked so prettily. Perched on the edge of the bed, naked as the day she was born – for someone so worried about being naked on their wedding night, she certainly had no problem parading around in front of him now. Personally, he thought she did it a-purpose just to get a rise out of him. Yes, _that_ sort of rise.

Another bead of sweat snaked its way down his nose. She inhaled, causing his breath to hitch. She stopped what she was doing.

“Did I hurt you?”

“No…” it came out as a gasp.

“Should I stop?”

“NO!” Instinctively, he reached above his head, reaching for the elaborate spindles of the headboard. There were scarves there, no doubt left by that kinky arse Marshal of his and his equally over-sexed wife. Béma! Who would have thought Gamling would enjoy being tied up…

Actually, the thought turned Éomer on, but… right now…

She inhaled deeply again, causing Éomer’s breath to hitch. He was going to explode soon enough and he wasn’t sure she was ready for that…

But she asked so… prettily. Naked, on the edge of the bed, with her legs, those long, long legs for one so tiny, her hair, unbound, a curtain of ebony… and those eyes… a pool of the sea… he couldn’t deny her…

_“Teach me to make you beg…”_


	24. GF 39 - Taste

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lothiriel wants something. Eomer obliges yet again.
> 
> Rated R for mature themes.

GF 039 Taste

LRS – timeline – immediately following 14

 

Taste

_*** Many have commented how the moment the sun goes down, Éomer and Lothiriel retire to their rooms. In fact, they also take numerous naps, although if anyone walks by the royal chambers, there is obviously not much sleeping going on. I remind the serving girls that the king and queen are newlyweds and if they have so little to do other than stand outside and speculate what is going on behind the doors, I can find them work to do, as can Gamling!***_

*** 

The wall was a nice place to stand, Éomer thought to himself. He made mental note to personally thank each and every carpenter that built a home or any standing building.

Cold ale was also nice to have in hand. He made another mental note to praise the ale makers and wine makers and mead makers. If it could be drunk, he was going to thank them for it. Oh, and the potters who made mugs as well. 

And pillow makers. Cushions and such. Definitely, thank you very much for firmly stuffed pillows. He took a sip from his brew and looked down at his wife, who knelt on such a pillow. “Tuck your lips around your teeth, sweetheart.” He put the chalice back to his mouth. 

“Sowwy.” She leaned back and scrutinized him. “Did I bite you?”

He shook his head and motioned with his free hand for her to continue.

He took another sip. Anything to prolong the inevitable. 

_Damn, she was getting REALLY good at this. That innocent mouth would be his undoing…_

Sooner than he would like, the tankard was empty and he was close to finishing other things. He set the mug down on the table and leaned back, bracing himself against the wall. “Princess, are you sure you-“

She leaned back, her hand continuing the ministration of her mouth. “I said I wanted to taste you. I meant it.” Back went her mouth…

Within thirty seconds, she got her wish.


	25. DF 44 - Hunger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eomer/Lothiriel
> 
> Rated PG13
> 
> Lothiriel writes naughty letters.

__

The Diary 

__

DF 44 – Hunger 

LRS – during prologue

_Poor Éomer. I hurt for him, I really do. I have never in my life seen a man so in love and besotted by a woman. If the union were political, I’d advise that he just go relieve himself at the brothel, but he’d probably order me beheaded or dragged. Éothain suggested it as a drunken jest and it took Gamling, Elfhelm, and Ceorl to pull the king off the poor young man. The moment the weather breaks, Gamling is sending him back to the Wold. I am sure he is missing Eadlyn. He is as starving for her as Éomer is ravenous for Lothiriel. I have resorted to leaving bottles of lotion in his room and pray he sees them and uses them for the proper purpose. Ceorl’s little Haradrim had plenty to say in that strange tongue of hers. I think I should like to learn some of her more colorful curses…_

~~~…~~~ 

I hunger for her. Does she know? Have any idea that I am incomplete until she is mine? I starve for her taste, ache for her touch. Éothain proposed I am so cantankerous, I should take a serving wench to my bed; anything to sweeten my mood. I have no desire for any of them. I only want her.

Aefre knows or at least senses. I find vials of lotion, unscented next to the bed, the lamp. They are replaced daily and she herds irritating people from my line of attack. Gamling is damn lucky.

Last week, I received a letter… one I will cherish because winter is settling on the Riddermark and the snow now completely covers the mountains, making travel through them impossible and around them, except for emergency, unfeasible. I suspect she wrote it a-purpose to heat me through the long night and each time I read it, I spill my seed on my hand and anything else in the way.

I cannot wait for spring to arrive.

 

_I miss you so. I cannot wait until this infernal drudgery of royal contracts and marital agreements between yours and my father’s kingdom are done and signed so I can get my hands on you. Why must there be contracts? Who cares about politics? Why can’t our countries come to agreements later? I want you._

_In the day, I stand on my balcony, staring at the mountains, far on the horizon, trying desperately to see into Rohan, into your bedchamber. I fear my family worries about me. It angered me when I was young that I could not see the sea from my rooms. Now I am infuriated I cannot see over the mountains to you._

_I play over and over in my mind, that evening in Gondor, when we were locked in the barn. I remember the taste of you, your mouth, your tongue. You tasted of wine and I wanted to drink from you until I could no longer stand straight. I remember the feel of your hands on me. I did not want you to stop. I didn’t want to go back to the reception. There was a Lamedonian with sweaty palms, others I did not wish to converse with, return to, deal with. They all spoke of asking my father and I already decided long before the wedding, I desire only you. I just wanted to stay with you, in your arms. I often wonder what I did to make you pull away. What did I do wrong?_

_When I told you I was joking about removing my dress… I was not. Had you given me the slightest encouragement, I would have peeled it off, slung it to the side, given myself to you there, in the barn. And now, now… the thought of standing before you naked terrifies me. Not because I am scared of you, but because I am terrified you will find me lacking and wanting. I am so different from your people… short and dark. I often wonder what do you see in me?_

_At night, I fantasize about your touch, when the lamps are off and my servants are gone, I wonder what your caress is like… is it firm? A whisper? I remember well the feel of your breath in my ear, the tickle of your beard. Am I reckless for wanting more? Your hands are rough, calloused, not at all like the soft hands of the lordlings who danced with me or walked with me, sought my hand before our betrothal. Once, I thought the rough hands of a warrior would be painful, sully my senses, but now, I find the softness of others to be effeminate, that I prefer the tingles and sensation of your hands on me. My ladies wail and faint at the thought of such maleness, but I revel in it. I want to wrap myself around you and never let go._

_Do you wish to know a secret? I desire your touch so deeply that last week, I snuck from my bed and put on my leather gloves to touch myself. The very sensation of the seams and the smell of the rawhide set me over the edge so strongly that I feared I would wake my maidservant in my crying out for you._

_I miss you so. I want you so. I want to know why the memory of the heat of your gaze makes me ache. I want to touch you, taste you, lick the very salt of you from your neck. I want to experience the hardness of you, the heaviness of you, pressing me to the bed. Many nights I have dreamed of you, only to wake crying because of the ache, the emptiness of my arms, when you were there just moments before._

_Father says we will probably marry in the late summer or during harvest. I don’t want to wait that long. I want you now…Please don’t wait…_

No, Lothiriel… I will not wait…

~~~…~~~

Léoma laid the paper down gently, a harsh blush rarely seen on her features.

“Is there more?”

She swallowed. “Like that?” She flipped through the stack. “Not that I can see.”

“Thank Béma!” The youngest got up and went to the sideboard where several bottles of Rohirrim Wine sat. He poured three glasses and after downing one glass, brought the other two to his siblings. “I say we burn those and pretend they never existed.”

Gamling’s spit shook his head negatively. “Mama wrote those for a reason. I say we give them to Éomer King.”

“Béma no!” Léoma burst. “I don’t know how I’m going to look him or Lothiriel in the eye ever again.”

The elder twin was nonplussed. “They love each other. They obviously loved each other before they were married. They had sex. Come on!” His arms went wide, encompassing the room. “They had five children! Even our parents had sex! We’re here and Léoma walked in on them, so we know they did! I’ll bet if we looked under the bed, we’d find silk scarves tied to the posts! Why hide?” He downed his wine as well. “Give it to them.”

Léoma was grinning. She took the entrees and set them in the bottom of the table. “I say we keep this group separate and hid so when Elfwine becomes king, we give them to him!”

Both brothers scowled. “You were always jealous he didn’t marry you.”

Léoma swirled her wine before taking a sip. “I was not. He was a obnoxious git growing up and by the time he became interesting,” she began to smile, “there was a member of the Swan Guard training here that I was very enthralled with.” She smiled to herself, despite her brothers’ open-faced disgust. “That boy could kiss.”

“Ew.”

“He could suck the moisture off of a rock, too!”

“EW!” It was now a duet.

“Don’t ‘ew’ me! I know about that dairy maid the two of you enjoyed together, when you were nineteen summers.”

Both brothers were now blushing. The red-head blurted out; anything to change the subject. “Give it to Elfwine? Agreed?”

“Agreed.”

“What’s next?”


	26. GF 77 - What (Did you eat?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> rated PG - really it's "G" but some people get squicked by things like... oh... children vomiting... 
> 
> You've been warned.

****

The Diary 

****

GF 77 What? 

****

What did you eat? 

RotM – Four years after chapter 47

_Great Béma riding the Halls! I leave Woldenfeld for two hours! Two! Hours! And all Mordor breaks loose! My poor, poor baby! But, his father proved himself more than capable… what a man I married…_

 

Strange, Gamling thought to himself, the amount of stomach content that could spew from such a tiny body. Strange also, how far said vomit could project itself. And stranger still, his youngest child would wait until his mother had been gone several hours, visiting her sister-in-law, to decide to vomit endlessly down the middle of the gangway in the barn and all over his father.

“Stand still!” Gamling grabbed the little one and bent him over. “Right here is fine. Don’t move!” Abéodan and Haleth both stopped in their tracks and began to back up, disgust on their faces. “Haleth, go tell Willan I need a bath up in mine and Aefre’s room now, and a pail for the clothes. Abéodan, saddle up and get Aefre.” The twin chose that moment to come into the barn and Haleth hauled him back out on his way out.

The youngest was still yakking up his belly. With revulsion, Gamling perused the contents of what was puddled in the dirt floor and spying the likely culprit of what caused his son’s stomach upset, waited until all that was coming up was stomach bile.

“Close your eyes and step back.” Gamling took a vomit – encrusted hand and quickly walked his son to the outer door. “Fresh air and water fixes most things.” He handed the full dipper from the rain barrel to the boy. “Spit, don’t swallow.” 

Several sputters later, he stood up and opened his eyes. Seeing his vile clothing and then his father’s, he immediately burst into tears. “I’m sowwy! I didn’ mean to, Da… I’m sowwy…”

Gamling scooped him up, moving quickly into the manse, ignoring the noises, the ‘ _ohmy that poor baby’_ from the serving girls. He wondered how Aefre maneuvered at all carrying a child and recently, he had seen her with both boys on each hip. And smiling about it! He made a mental note to rub her back more often.

The door to their room was open, the curtain to the bathing chamber thrown back and steam already rising from the tub. There was a bucket already waiting for the clothes and without much preamble, Gamling peeled the garments from his now sniffling son and checking to make sure the water wasn’t scalding, put the young one into the tub.

“I sowwy.”

The Marshal dug through the shelf, looking for soap and the hair vial. “It’s okay,” he found what he was looking for and grabbing a washcloth, brought a stool up next to the tub. Without considering he himself was still in stinky clothing, he sat down and began to bathe the spewings from his son. “You shouldn’t eat berries that aren’t ripe.”

The little one didn’t whine, like he normally did when his mother washed his hair. As the water spilled over and suds were lathered in, he blubbered, “Dey wuz wed, like the wabbleberries-”

“Those aren’t rabbleberries, young rider.” The child seemed to like it when his da called him that. “Those are olderberries and they aren’t ripe until they are purple. If you eat them too soon, you’ll get sick.” 

“Dey tasted funny.”

“I’ll bet they did.”

Willan brought in the last bucket and poured it in the tub, bringing the water level rather high. He tapped Gamling on the shoulder, scrunching up his nose and pointing at the nasty garments he himself was still wearing. “I know. I was waiting for you to finish. Have the squires throw down fresh sawdust where this one lost his breakfast and pour water on the wood plankings where it splattered. I’ll be down later when this one settles down to pick through it.” Gamling then stood up and as soon as the door was shut, took off his own clothing and joined his son in the tub. 

The child was sitting between his father’s knees and busy creating suds sculptures in his hair, when his twin peeked in the door. “Are you still sick?”

“My tummy hurts.” It was a weak answer, a whimper, and with a gentleness rarely seen, the elder of the two leaned over the tub and hugged his brother. 

“Feel better soon.” As he wandered towards the door, he looked back over his shoulder. “I’ll be alone tonight.”

_Not right,_ Gamling thought. Those two had never slept apart since the moment they were born. It would be a rough night for both if Aefre returned this eve and decided to keep this one in the bed with them. The child looked so dejected, Gamling felt equally sorry for him as he did the one who was sick. With a nod and a wink to his other son, the boy soon stripped off and joined his brother in the tub, both of them now sitting between his legs, their hair (and his, truth be told) sudsed up ridiculous and standing straight up on their heads, and soaping up their father’s powerful arms.

Aefre did return early that evening. Abéodan had caught up with her as she was within sight of her father’s holdings. Sending Léoma on to spend the night with her aunt and husband at the smaller homestead, she returned at a speed that Abéodan was hard-pressed to keep up with. 

She found her husband, clad only in rarely worn sleeper pants, ensconced on the bed, with both boys tucked up under each arm, sound asleep. She noticed both of their sons were wearing their father’s old tunics. He was quietly reading a missive from the King.

“Béma! Both of them? What happened?” She threw off her cloak, letting it drop in the floor and rushed to the bedside, obviously at a loss at which one to cluck over first.

“This one,” her husband nodded to the little red-head, “is fine. He is… commiserating is all and experiencing sympathy pains. The other, however,” he nodded to the youngest, “got into the olderberry bush this morning.”

She was stroking his face, checking for fever. “The olderberry bush isn’t ripe. Eating those would make him-”

“Sick. Really sick. He spewed all over the barn and all over me.” 

Aefre sank down on the bed, checking the forehead and cheeks of the one who was in such misery. His eyes opened to slits. “Mama? You come home?” The voice was weak, so not like the daredevil he was.

“Ah sweetie,” her hands cupped warm cheeks, “of course I came home, right away! I couldn’t visit with Aunt Eadlyn when one of my babies is sick. I had to come home and make him well. How is your tummy?”

He rubbed it thoughtfully. “It’s rumbly.” 

“My tummy is rumbly too,” his twin chimed in, still tucked under his father’s arm. He didn’t seem to notice the small earthquake caused by his father’s laughter. 

“Aw honey, tell you what,” Aefre held out her hand to the elder of her sons. “Why don’t you come to the kitchen with me and we will fix a nice tea for your brother and find something for your tummy.” His mother rightly guessed his tummy was ‘rumbly’ for very different reasons than his brother’s. 

“Okay!” Quickly, he crawled over Gamling’s stomach, catching the Rider off guard and making the man grimace and gasp before jumping from the bed. The moment the little one’s feet hit the floor, he grabbed his mother’s hand. “I’ll help.” He started to pull her towards the door.

“Is your tummy rumbly, Gamling?” 

“Me?” Aefre’s husband pointed to himself. “Your son just stepped all over it. Yes, it is rumbly.”

“I’ll bring you something as well,” she smiled before turning away and allowing the middle child to drag her from the room.

Dinner was eaten in their bed that night, although the littlest one had a strange tasting tea that put him to sleep and both boys slept between their parents, making the bed rather crowded that evening, despite its size.

And strangely enough, neither boy was known to pick berries from bushes after that. They preferred to eat them from the bowls after someone else picked them.


	27. GF 29 - Birth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamling is not removed from his and Aefre's chambers when his sons are born.

****

The Diary 

****

GF029 

****

Birth 

Timeline: approx 4 years after Rider, chapter 46

 

_Finally, they are here. A day and a half it took, but Béma love the man, he never left my side. Except for that one short period…_

~~~…~~~ 

Gamling watched in absolute fascination as the first one slipped from his wife’s body. His mother talked about how large the babe was, but to him, the newborn was a tiny thing. He had to admit, the boy had lungs. His mother carried the screaming infant to the washbasin, where warm water awaited to clean the mess from his skin.

Aefre was breathing heavily, in a deep sweat. His respect for his wife had grown by leaps and bounds in the last few hours, watching what she – or any woman – went through to bring life into the world. Her head leaned backwards, resting on his shoulder. 

Eadignes looked up from between her legs, a large smile on her face. “Aefre? Are you ready to do this again?”

“Again?” Her voice was exhausted.

“Aye. There _is_ a second one.” Eadignes made eye contact with Gamling’s mother, who looked up from her task of bathing the little boy Aefre had just birthed. “This one’s head down as well.”

“Really?” Aelwydd looked mildly shocked. She continued to bathe the crying little one in her arms. “Normally, they are one and the other.” She turned her attention back to the baby she held.

Gamling was having a difficult time, watching his mother, watching Eadignes, holding on to his wife. She began to push again, to get this one down in her birth canal. 

“I don’t want anymore after this, Gamling.” She looked up at him, exhausted. “I’m too old and three is enough.” Gamling numbly nodded in agreement. 

“Push, Aefre,” Eadignes ordered. “Don’t worry, there are herbs to keep you from getting pregnant again.”

For several minutes, the three worked as a team, the newest member of the family finally quietened down after his grandmother bathed him and swaddled him tightly. She walked around behind Eadignes, watching the proceedings. Quietly, she nudged the midwife and nodded to her son.

“Gamling?” His mother addressed him quietly. “Would you like to bring your last child into the world?”

One moment, he was bracing his wife’s back. The next, he washed his hands quickly and then he was between her legs, peering at the most interesting scene. Aelwydd was now bracing his wife and Eadignes cuddled the newborn, standing at Gamling’s shoulder.

“Bear down, Aefre. Push. Count one… two… three… guide the head out, sir… that’s right… seven… eight… now hold the back of the head, let me get the mucus out of this one’s mouth… count again Aefre… two… three… four… okay, keep pushing, here are the shoulders….”

The baby slid out, into Gamling’s waiting hands. He cradled this one – another boy, screaming and kicking moreso than his brother. Eadignes handed the wrapped one to his mother before producing a small knife and holding the umbilical cord, showed the father where to cut.

He bathed that one, his mother peering over his shoulder.

“You didn’t faint, son.” Gamling looked over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised. “I’m proud of you.”

Gamling shrugged, finishing with his son. He grabbed a waiting towel, warmed by the fireplace and wrapped him up, before cradling him to observe him. “Don’t crow just yet, mother.” He smiled wanly and handed the baby to his grandmother. His knees buckled. “The day isn’t over…”


	28. DF 59 - Destruction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Aefre comes home.

__

The Diary 

__

059D Destruction 

RoM – Last Chapter.

_*He said there was damage. Some. He said it needed repairs. Somewhat. He said it was run down…. Oh Béma… Lufian would scream… they turned it into a hovel…a shite hole… it’s been destroyed…._

 

Aefre slid from her mare, blindly removing the sling that held her sleeping daughter. Someone took the weight from her; to her dying day, she would never know who took that precious bundle from her. She stared at the chaotic mess in the outer bailey was in. One expected… chickens to be running loose, but there was a goat and… dear Béma, was that _SWINE… pigs???_ … in a pile of kitchen scraps?

And a drunken sot lying next to it? She opened her mouth to screech, but no sound came out. There was a tap at her shoulder as Willan made a beeline towards the man, who would no doubt scare some religion into the inebriated fool.

She steeled her backbone, the look on her face obviously terrifying as people moved out of her way as she stormed the inner bailey.

It was worse. Mentally taking inventory of everything that would need to be repaired, rebuilt…the barn was leaning, dear Béma, what was Gifre thinking? In order to prosper, you had to tend to the wealth; that when the lord invested in his land and property, tending to the needs of the area, all benefited? 

“Ma’am?” An elderly servant dipped, attempting to block her way, “We tried-“

“Hush.” Aefre kept going. “’Tis not your fault, I know. But I need to see-“

The doors at the front of the hall, large, double side-by-side doors, that Lufian had helped plank, trim, and carve, had been so proud of – and that man had pride enough to stiffen many a backbone – hung off the hinges, the markings of his house, scored, scorched out… Again, she turned, eyes casting a scornful glance across the courtyard. 

_The walls show wear and weakness, the smokehouse is leaning, so was the barn…_

Aefre pushed through, steeling herself for what lay inside…hoping beyond hope…

… and was still stunned by the filth and destruction. Dust motes flittered through the air, uncaring of the one who stirred them. Slowly, Aefre wandered the house, taking in the grime, the damage, broken chairs left lay where they were thrown, tables, leaning haphazardly. As she made her way to the head table, her fingers caressed the chipped and scarred wood. When she reached what had been Lufian’s chair, she stopped, again fingers stroking the wood before stroking the greasy residue from her fingertips. 

Her resolve and countenance hardened. She turned on the elderly woman who was following her. “Did you not know we were coming?”

The woman could not make eye contact. “Ma’am, we-“

“Do you have a name? I do not remember you.”

“I…I…” the woman was stammering, obviously terrified of the new mistress. “I did not work here. I came to help-“

“So, you knew we were coming.”

“Ma’am,” the woman began again, “most have been terrified to return. Lord Gif-“

“You will NOT call him that!” Aefre spat. Her voice rang in the hall and if possible the hall become more silent. “You may call him bastard, whoreson, thief, pestilence, a canker on your arse, but you will NOT-“ and with this she shoved her finger in the woman’s face, “call him ‘lord’! He was anything but!”

“Aye, ma’am.” The woman’s eyes fell.

“You knew we were coming however-“

“’Tis spring, ma’am. All have been in the fields, planting.”

Aefre stopped short. “Is there enough?” Finally the kind, compassionate eyes the woman had been told to expect from the Lady rested on her. “Will there be enough to harvest?”

“No ma’am. The Lor… that bastard,” Aefre grinned as the woman spat it, “demanded more and more, leaving less for us. We have no stores left, no seed.”

“We brought plenty. Gamling will send word to Éomer to send more.” She winked at the now relaxing woman. “We will have a feast to end all feasts at harvest. Look forward to it.”

As Aefre left the hall, she noticed the Ogetarts board roughly carved into the end of the table… along with other crudities. She turned, seeing her husband and several other riders in the entourage behind them. “If they cannot be salvaged, break the chairs down for kindling. Take this-“ she motioned to the table, “and scour it, sand it down. I’ll not have it in my hall, thus.” She realized Eadlyn was shadowing her cowering like a mouse. “Are you paying attention?”

“Yes Aefre.”

She spent many minutes, going through each room, lost in her memories of what should be there, what this room used to look like, had looked like in its former glory. Many times, she caught herself from screaming in frustration, crying aloud.

_Take those down. Burn them. Wash those. Burn the mattresses. I’ll not take chances of mice and bedbugs…_

She entered one room, its windows large, opening to the setting sun. The walls were stained with… Aefre didn’t even want to guess what was flung on the walls, nothing salvageable. She closed her eyes, remembering the room, her dreams for that room…

The Marshal’s wife flew across the space and threw the shutters open. “Take everything out. Burn it. We need white wash.” She turned to see Eadlyn standing behind her, Aefre’s daughter, Léoma, staring wide-eyed at her mother. The babe’s eyes had turned as brown as the caffe her father loved to drink so and it was obvious to the little one this woman was not the mother she was used to. “White wash,” she reiterated. “In fact,” she nodded to the old crone following them throughout, “go through the house and open every window and every shutter.”

“Ma’am?” the old woman whispered. “Are you not afraid brigands-“

“Will steal? Will steal what? Broken down furniture? It would save us from hauling it off!” 

“Lady Aefre,” Eadignes began quietly, “there is a problem procuring wood, remember?”

“This is the Wold, Eadignes.” Aefre stood by the open window and gestured out. “We are within a few hours of Fangorn and a day of Lorien. Gamling will speak to the Elves and we will… we will beg on the out-reaches of Fangorn.” She turned from the window and headed towards the hallway. “Perhaps the Ents will be gracious.” She turned the corner. “I pray the Ents will be gracious.”

She went through the guest rooms, slowly making her way to the back of the hallway, the home. Finally, she stood before double doors, dreading…

With a scowl and the determination of a battle-hardened Rider, she took hold of the door handles and with a growl, she threw them open.

She was not prepared.

This… group of rooms… this haven from chaos, where she and Lufian would retreat… yes, retreat, it was their retreat with the grand bathing chamber with a fireplace and the bed, that huge bed, where they loved and made love and comforted each other…

She went through them, most of the furniture gone and what was left, was filthy, vile, defiled. She seemingly meandered into the bedchamber, took in the soiled, torn curtains, the bedclothes… she heard, felt a crunch beneath her feet and stepped backwards, looking, to see the carpet encrusted with pottery shards, bones… truthfully, she did not recognize the carpet, it was so grimy, she doubted it could be cleaned. The many colorful hues were gone, the entire thing brown with dirt. Everything was rags…

“Take it all down. Take it out.” She began to point. “The bedcurtains, the window curtains, the mattress, burn them. The pillows, burn them.”

“Whitewash?”

“Yes, by the bucket loads.” She looked into the fireplace. “Find the chimney sweep. I want him to start today.” She looked up, expecting to find holes and seeing them. She vaguely wondered if they just went into the attic or if the roof…

The roof could wait. For a moment. 

“Take out the rugs. All of the rugs. They are to be beaten for days. Same with the tapestries.” Aefre turned and returned to the hallway, now heading towards the kitchen. “In fact, remove everything. Leave nothing in the house. If the cloth is salvageable, wash it, boil it. Clean the bailey walls and hang things from them if there is not enough line. In fact, have Willan hang lines from the trees, anywhere.” 

“But ma’am,” the old woman was still hovering. “What if it rains?”

“What if it does?” Aefre snarled. “At worst, the rain will wash more filth away.” With this, she turned and stalked back down the hallway, downstairs and then into the kitchen.

The elderly cook was fighting a losing battle, but it was one she fought and fought hard. With a diminished staff, it was obvious that people were staying away until they knew Gifre was truly gone and she was over-worked. With the same efficiency she showed upstairs, Aefre pointed out things that needed to be done, must be done. She demanded inventory of food, cleaning chemicals, took one look at the kitchen hearth and with a screech, ordered the chimney sweep, when he could found, to begin with it. Tonight. Immediately. Aefre turned to the old woman. “Find Thrydwulf. I know he is here, I saw him in passing. Tell him to go to my grandmother’s estate and retrieve everyone. Now. I realize they must pack, but I want them here in three days, tomorrow preferably. He knows where it is.” She waited as the old woman hobbled off, before shaking her head and continuing on.

She took stock in the beleaguered pantry, took in the lack of preserves, canned vegetables. The smoke house had precious little. She sent a young boy to the stables, to check the livestock, the number of yearlings. 

She found fishing nets, unused, tangled, needing repair. By the next day, Éothain’s sister, Eabæ, would be sitting in the sun, out of everyone’s way, her nimble fingers working, unknotting and repairing. 

By the time they reached the kitchen garden, Eadignes was in tears. Weeds choked everything and weeks and weeks of work that needed to be done. Somewhere, there was another cry and Aefre moved further, into the house garden, to see Eadlyn standing in the middle of weeds, rosebushes, clematis vines, wisteria, out of control, in some places trod on many times and dead. Aefre remember vaguely the garden was a refuge of sorts for the young woman. Eadlyn looked up at Aefre, tears in her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I hate him. I _hate_ him! I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

Aefre frowned at the mess, before turning and making her way back to the bailey.

Gamling was still there, with Éothain and Ceorl. Off to the side, was Ceorl’s little rescued Haradrim woman; really not much more than a girl, Serei, dark eyed, olive skinned, and more dangerous than an entire éored on alert. She watched, her eyes darting everywhere, with her hands tucked in her exotic sleeves, fingers no doubt on knives that would fly if anyone looked as if they would touch a hair on Ceorl’s head. 

Fury welled up in Aefre’s body. Fury that Gamling downplayed the damage, the work, fury that Gifre had done this to her home… _her_ home, that Gifre had murdered her husband and done this and all they did to him was drag him. He should have been skinned, his balls cut off, his ears, his fingers removed…

With a howl, rent from Mordor’s bowels, she stormed the men, fists balled in white-knuckle fury. Both Éothain and Ceorl stepped backwards, Ceorl taking hold of Serei, knowing Aefre did not see them. Gamling, however, knew his wife, expected this outburst and was prepared. The moment she reached him, hands clenched in Aefre-sized battle-hammers, he drew her to him, held her close and allowed her to beat his chest in rage. “YOU LIED! YOU LIED! IT’S VILE, FILTHY! You SAID we could fix this. You SAID it would be okay! You LIED!” Quickly, her wrath diminished into sobs and the Marshal’s response was simply to hold her tighter. ‘You… lied…”

“It’s alright, Aefre. We can fix this.” He tucked her under his chin, waiting for the sobs to turn into hiccups.

“Not today, we can’t!” she retorted. Ah, no hiccups anytime soon. Her one free fist continued to beat, albeit slower, against his chest. “We can’t fix this today!”

“No.” After taking a precursory walk with Éothain, the depth of the damage was just becoming clear to him. Gently, he took the furious fist and tucked it under her, between them. “Not today. But we will fix it.” He held her tighter. “We will. We’ll make Lufian proud.”

For some time, those who traveled with them and those who had been left behind, gave a wide, wide berth around the new Lord and his Lady while she grieved the stupidity of men.


	29. DF 81 - Clamps

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Why would a Dwarf wander south into Rohan to work in a smithy?

****

The Diary 

****

DF 81 

****

Clamps 

_So very strange today, Éomer unsheathed his sword on the table in front of the dwarf. Apparently, family legend has it, a dwarven blacksmith forged it for his great-great-grandfather and left his mark on it. Éomer wished to know if Gimli might know who the smith was…I think he does. He turned white as a ghost._

The blacksmith’s hammer beat down on the heated blade, forging it, shaping it. With his clamps, he held it firmly in place, while seeming to abuse the metal.

_Back into the fire, heating the iron, making it soft, malleable._

The fury in the smithy was over-whelming. Had he been a man, he would have complained. But he wasn’t a man. And while he was tall for one of his kind, these Rohirrim, who were uncommonly tall, dwarfed him, for lack of a better term. They towered over him, moreso than other men. 

At least they were kindly, appreciative.

_Back into the fire…_

Again his clamps turned the blade. Deep inside, the dwarf was grateful for something different to do. For weeks, he had been churning out horseshoe after horseshoe after horseshoe. Great Aulë, ah Mahal, how many horses did these horselords own? He felt as if he shoed them all.

The blade began to take shape.

_Back into the fire… the metal now the color of fire…_

He had taken off his tunic, hours ago; his back, arms, drenched with sweat. He knew some were curious, wondering if he was covered, much like an animal pelt. Compared to the Rohirrim blacksmith he labored with, he had more hair, but deep inside he knew that some – the women mostly – were enamored with the size and sinews of his arms, the width of his shoulders, openly wondered if one could tell where the hair on his head stopped and that on his back began. He rolled his eyes in contempt. Yes, he had hair and a copious amount, but not a warg’s hide down his back. At least the people here weren’t bothered by it, as some were elsewhere.

_Back into the fire, the clamps turning…_

In recent weeks, too many women attempted to steal into his bed, wanted to copulate with him. They promised things, wondrous things, things that made his stomach churn. He did not desire them. For not the first time, he wished he had brought his beloved, Gin, with her laughing eyes, bright as sapphires, blonde hair like a thick mane and her beard... Gloin’s wife did not hold a candle to Gin. She always begged to go with him, when he came down from the mountains, to work, to provide. Perhaps next time… she would teach these men a thing or two about spitting a hog…

…and the women about grace.

Perhaps, next time…

_Back into the fire._

Finally, it took the shape he desired, the razor-thin sharpness on the edge. Over and over he reforged, singing under his breath a dwarvish melody, one that called on Mahal to bless the iron, the sword, to strengthen and renew the bearer of the blade. 

_May it never break. May it never dull._

When it was finished, the pummel attached and carved, he laid the blade down and etched his mark – the very one that matched the sigil of his ring - at the very top of the blade. Once the wrappings and wire was attached, the mark would be covered, only showing when such were replaced.

“It is finished, Master Dwarf?” 

The Dwarf nodded in affirmation. This commission should be more than enough. If so, he would return home to the mountain on the morrow, before the snows came down. There would be enough to purchase livestock, feed the clan, those displaced from the Lonely Mountain. 

“Well, let me see…” The highly decorated Horselord took the blade from him and stepping back, put it through its paces. “It is beautifully weighted and light!” He stopped and admired the handwork, the unique grip. “The horse heads on the pommel are excellent craftswork! I doubt any of our blacksmiths could create such exquisiteness.”

The Dwarf bowed his head. “May the blade bring you much success in battle.”

“Oh, it’s not for me!” The Rohirrim was jovial. “It is for my son! He has obtained his first cloak and this is for him!”

“You must be very proud.”

The Rohirrim was smiling at the blade, appreciating in full its beauty. “Oh aye, that I am! He is a proud descendant of the house of Éofor, son of Brego!”

The Dwarf was still nodding, looking at the metal shavings in the floor of the smithy. “Then may it be his friend in battle.” He felt a gentle pat on his shoulder. 

“Yes, may it be. In fact, that is what I shall name it – Battle friend. Gúthwinë.” A pouch heavy with coin was laid on the edge of the anvil. “We would appreciate it if you would stay through the winter. Your work is superb.”

Finally, the Dwarf looked up, disdain barely concealed on his face. “How difficult are horseshoes to make?”

The Rohirrim laughed. “Not difficult, but I am sure many would appreciate such as this!” Again he admired the sword in his hands. “You would be well-paid, I am sure.”

He shook his head. “Nay. I wish to return home to my family before the snows begin.”

Finally, the man’s smile fell. “I heard about the ugly business in the East.” He shook his head. “A dragon. I am sorry.” A second pouch, equally heavy found itself next to its brother on the anvil. “For traveling. Keep it close, although I doubt brigands would mess with a battle dwarf.” He leaned over so that he was in the Dwarf’s face. “Especially one who should be king,” he whispered. He stood up and extended his hand. “We would welcome you back in the spring, if you desire. There will always be a place for you here. May Béma shine upon you.”

“And may Aulë grace your lands.” Thorin, son of Thráin, son of Thrór turned to the anvil, taking both weighted purses and putting them in the pocket of the protective apron.

“Master Dwarf.” Thorin inclined his head to look at the Rohirrim. “I would be pleased if you would join me at the head table for dinner this eve.”

“I am but a simple-”

“No, you are not simple. It would please me if you would dine as my guest. We will be presenting the sword to my son and I wish for you to be part! I will also make sure that you have plenty of food placed in a rucksack for you when you decide to leave, if you’ll just let me know when.”

“In the morning.” It was whispered.

“Ah then. We will see you at dinner.”

Thorin shut his eyes. These Men of the West. They did not… ah, so be it. A fine dinner at the table of the Marshal. He would probably upset the highborn ladies, who no doubt had been told dwarves lapped like dogs. If only they knew… if only…

~~~…~~~ 

“Ah laddie, what a blade you have.” Gimli ran his finger over the mark, the etching that yes, he did recognize.

“You know this mark?”

“Aye.” A single tear ran down a rugged cheek, quickly caught in the dwarf’s beard. “It is the mark of a king.”

~~~…~~~ 

“What are you doing?” Léoma had turned to see her youngest brother crawling under their parents’ bed.

“Looking.”

The redhead was shaking his head and rolling his eyes. “Leave it alone.”

“NO! I’m curi… AHA!” There was the sound of scurrying, scuffling. He sneezed twice.

“You’re stirring up dust, you troll!”

“Oh Béma! You sound like Mama!”

“Thank you!” 

“It wasn’t a compliment!” Finally, the youngest backed out from under the bed. He held up several aging, dusty, long scarves. “I’m just going to be sick!” 

tbc

 

 

Note: Éofor was the third son of Brego, founder of Meduseld, son of Eorl. It is from his line Éomer Eadig was descended from through his father, Éomund. Éomer was also descended from Aldor, Brego’s second son, through his mother. Brego’s first son, Baldor, was lost in the Paths of the Dead.


	30. DF 01 - Ravished

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A/N – don’t ask how or why, but in recent weeks, a certain muse has been in a dark mood. Oh and this particular fic is NOT for the pink and fluffy set. You’ve been warned.

__

The Diary 

__

Ravished 

__

DF 01 

_Rider of the Mark – Two years after the birth of Léoma_

 

_***It never gets easier, when He is gone. I spend the entire time looking towards the horizon, praying he returns home safe. Apparently, my worrying works, as he does. I miss him so and the bed is so cold…***_

~~~***~~~

There had been a time when he looked forward to campaigns, looked forward to rushing into battle, looked forward to feeling his blood sing. His sword begged for it, Dréogan would get impatient, stamping, and ready for the scent of the hunt, the iron tang of slaughter.

Something had happened between then and now. Things he looked forward to in the past, he no longer cherished. 

He had grown soft.

Dréogan nickered angrily and shook his head. With almost an apologetic grimace, Gamling loosened his grip on the reins.

Damn.

He was soft, his bed was soft, his gut was soft, damn, his horse had grown…

Soft.

He and his men rode through the gates of home, lanterns and lamps lit in every window, every nook. In the midst of his angry musings, some things that had been soft suddenly were not.

He headed straight to the stable, dismounting before his horse came to a complete stop. Dréogan was unsaddled in no time, the stable boy tossing a currycomb, while taking the saddle from the Master of the House. Dréogan was rubbed down, brushed down, another young stable boy filling the water trough and oats.

The warhorse was well acquainted with his Rider’s moods and even the randy stallion had other things on his mind. He accepted the scratch on the nose, heard the whispered ‘Well done, boy’ and moved to the back of his stall, where a pretty dappled mare awaited him.

Gamling took one look at his stallion, noting that the feared battle horse turned into a well-behaved suitor when facing his lady.

_He_ had no intentions of being well-behaved. And _His_ Lady knew her place and where she had better be.

He strode across the common area, acknowledging the bows and curtsies from the workers and Riders. It still made him uncomfortable, but they insisted.

The front doors were double, not as grand as Edoras, but still grand for the Wold. He threw them open, the conquering hero, the noise jarring and echoing through the Hall. He searched the nearest Rohirrim.

“Where?”

The cook was striding through and looked confused for a moment before responding. “That child of yours just went to sleep on a stack of potatoes. Your wife is upstairs, I believe.”

Gamling nodded thanks and headed towards the stairs, grim determination evident on his visage. Servants, arms piled with linens, stood back –

“M’Lord…”

\- whispering coming to a halt. 

He heard her voice from around the corner.

“I don’t know when Gamling will return, but I want a fine feast laid out for him and the-”

“AEFRE!” He could roar, he knew he could and he scowled when he saw his wife’s head peer around the corner.

“Béma!”

“YOU KNOW WHERE I WANT YOU!”

He heard her scurry off, three girls immediately stood in his way, as if to slow him.

“M’lord, would you like chicken or a smoked calf-”

He pushed them to the side, effectively moving through them as if they were a trickle of water. “I don’t care as long as it doesn’t move when I stick my knife in it!”

He heard a door slam as he rounded the corner. With a very determined stride, he strode to his bedroom door. Without warning he looked up and down the hallway, snarling at the women staring at him as if he had lost his head.

“Care to join us?” he asked a grey-haired woman standing closest.

“I think you’d best be satisfying your Lady first before you look my way, you Orc!” She turned with a huff and rounded the corner. The others darted after her.

Finally the hallway was empty.

Gamling smiled. He started to knock on the door, but thought better. He leaned in, heard nothing. He slung the door open.

She was where he told her when he had left he wanted her…

_***Naked in my bed. ***_

He did not see the newest grey hairs or tiredness. He didn’t see clothes slung across the room, so hurried was she to unclothe. He saw his Aefre-

_***HIS Aefre sweetsweetmagicfingersthankyouBémaIloveyouAefre***_

sitting naked on the bed, legs tucked under.

He wanted her now. He couldn’t wait… He threw the door closed and dropped the privacy bar. Toeing his boots off, he began to wrestle with his greaves.

“Let me help.” She scrambled off the bed, on her knees in front of him, her hands moving to the laces behind his legs. The armor fell off, his braces following. In short time, he was wearing nothing but his tunic, her mouth wrapped around him.

He allowed her to tend to him, coax him, if he thought he couldn’t get any harder, he was wrong. There was something wonderfully submissive about the naked woman, on her knees, servicing him. His hands went into the long silken strands of hair, tightening his grip, moving her to a rhythm he desired.

As much as he enjoyed her ministrations, he was too close to spending himself and he wanted that sweet hollow that was his and no other’s. He pulled her up by the hair of the head, heard her gasp, saw her wince…

“On the bed.” He gestured towards the large four poster with his leonine head. She obediently acquiesced, using the step. She began to turn and face him.

“On your hands and knees.”

If she was insulted by the order, she didn’t show it. No sooner than she was in position, he was on the bed behind her. With one swift motion, he pressed in to the hilt, his hands back to her hair. He tugged, reining her in a harsh, granite rhythm.

_***don’twanttocomedon’twanttospend-***_

He pulled out, turned her hair loose and flipped her to her back. Too quickly, he spread her and dove back in, throwing one well-muscled leg over his shoulder. Now her hands were in his hair, threading to the roots as she pulled him to her shoulder. Somewhere in the internal roar, he heard her encouraging him - 

_***come on baby it’s yours I’m yours take it take all of me…***_

Moments later, he did. He came in a crashing, noisy cataclysm, roaring in her ear.

It took a moment to realize he was probably crushing her. He rolled over and pulled her close. He slung his leg around hers and slid his fingers between her legs.

“Did I hurt you?”

Aefre tugged playfully at his beard. “No, you big lummox. Had you, I would have smacked you.”

Gamling dipped his head, finding her nipple. Gently, he began to suckle, his fingers teasing her clit. He listened to her, waited to hear her breath quicken and catch. In the past few years, he had learned her body, memorized each crevice and curve until he knew it as well as his own. He intensified his touch, nibbling until her back arched from the bed, her own breath caught in a vortex. The moment she peaked, he lessened the pressure, perceptive to the immediately sensitivity of her erogenous zones. He waited for her to float back to the earth, before removing his fingers and licking them. The Rider tucked her under his arm. He started to drift off to sleep.

He heard her mumble.

“What?

“I said I missed you, Grunt the Mountain Man.”


	31. DF 04 - Blood

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone forgot to tell the Wild Men the war is over.

****

The Diary of Aefre of the Wold 

****

DF 004 – Blood 

****

Timeline: Some years after the conclusion of Rider 

_*** There is supposed to be peace from the Dunlendings. Apparently, a few forgot…***_

 

****

~~~...~~~ 

Gamling shook his head, almost unbelieving the never-ending attack. Where had they come from and why were they attacking now? The Wold had been peaceful for years. He pulled his sword from yet another body.

“RIGHT!”

His wife’s voice reverberated through the small clearing and the Marshal raised his sword just in time to deflect a blow from the Mountain Man bearing down on him. Parry met thrust and with a grunt and a gush of blood, yet another one fell. Soon, the hollow was silent.

“Haleth? Abéodan?” Gamling searched, quickly catching sight of the two Riders nodding their well-being. He was glad they had insisted on riding with them to her sister-in-law’s home, both claiming the air too foggy, the woods, too restless. “Aefre?” He saw the shadow slide from the trees behind her, as her eyes widened at the something behind him.

“DUCK!” “LEFT!” they shouted at the same time. He saw her arm raise, the morningstar, looping, his own sword driving into the space to her right. A whoosh of last breath from the adversary behind her, a sickening thud from the man behind him. Gamling saw, rather than felt, the blood and brain matter splattering his armor and his face. Both mountain men hit the ground dead, at the same time.

“Bastard!” she spat. “Not my man!” The last was inaudible to all, but Gamling. “Not again.” Aefre’s gored morningstar fell into the grass, the handle barely held in her hands.

Éomer’s favorite Marshal recognized the grey color of his stoic wife’s face, having seen a glimmer of it years before, when confronted about her skill with the evil weapon, made specifically for her. “I will take that.” Gamling offered, taking it from her.

“Good,” she whispered back. “I’m going to be sick.”

****

tbc 


	32. GF 97 - No.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamling makes sure history does not repeat itself. A true drabble

****

The Diary of Aefre of the Wold 

****

GF 097 – no 

****

Timeline: Seven months after the conclusion of Rider 

****

~~~...~~~ 

_That man was more stubborn this time. Good for him!_

 

No.

They said the second time was easier than the first. 

Aefre wasn’t so sure about that. Gamling could see the fear in her eyes, her body tightening yet again.

“Gamling-” her voice was crushed out of a tightening windpipe.

“I’m here. I’m not leaving.” 

Eadignes looked up from her perch between Aefre’s knees, her head had been cloistered with Gamling’s mother and sister. “Sir-“

“Gamling, you should leave. This is no place for you and she will relax and finished this.”

Gamling’s jaw clenched. “NO! You shoved me out the last time. You’ll not shove me out this time.”

****

tbc 


	33. GF 94 - Independence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gamling experiences first hand something Aefre suffered through many times. A true drabble.

****

The Diary of Aefre of the Wold 

****

GF 094 – Independence 

****

Timeline: Almost 20 years after the conclusion of Rider 

****

~~~...~~~ 

94 – Independence. (true drabble)

 _They grew up, became men. When did that happen?_

 

Both stood at the gates watching the dust fly up, both sons assigned to new garrisons. How many times had she watched him ride off, ride to Gondor and war and glory? Did she feel as empty as he did this very moment?

“They will be back, you know. It is not the end of the world.” Gamling sounded sure, rather confidant. “You knew the day would come.”

“Aye.” Aefre’s voice wasn’t so secure. “I did. But I hoped-”

“Éomer King would assign them closer. With Éothain at your father’s homestead or here.” He pulled her close. “I did to.”

****

tbc 


	34. DF 02 - Dark Path

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes, being first isn't all what it's cracked up to be.

****

The Diary 

****

DF 02 – Dark Path. 

[](http://smg.photobucket.com/user/ZeeDippyVessel/media/Fic%20Artwork/AkniGHATTHEcrossroadsbyviktorvasnetov_zpsa969bfcc.jpg.html)

Crossroads by Viktor Vasnetov 

_They say The Paths of the Dead hold no ghosts, that they have been released by the King of Gondor and now it is a safe road to Dol Amroth and the coast. It will save weeks of travel. It is wondered if carts of goods can be taken through the Paths. We won't know until someone braves the cavern._

****

~~~...~~~ 

The messenger was young, barely bearded, truthfully, a rough and scraggly thing. He'd earned that beard and his cloak during the War of the One Ring, carrying messages. For many, the task would become boring; it was usually given to younger Riders. He, on the other hand, enjoyed the time alone, the scenery. He had seen more of Middle Earth than any Rider his age and older. He came from a large, noisy family and Abéodan relished the peace and quiet of the road.

But he didn't look forward to... this. 

He stood in front of the entrance of the cave. Éomer, Rohan King, was betrothed to Lothiriel, Princess of Dol Amroth and the messenger carried what he correctly suspected would be the first of many missives between the couple, as well as contracts, agreements and other things that were negotiated between two countries when members of the nobility married. In the past, Riders would have gone around the Grey Mountains. The trip would take weeks and in some places, the road would be dangerous. Of course, it was less so now that the War was over. There were many patrols; Béma, he had seen more Elves and Dwarves in the past summer cycle than he had seen in his life! Rumor had it the King was negotiating with the Dwarves for their services to repair the Dike in the Deeping Comb. 

He wondered if they had cleared this trail – the Paths of the Dead - or would? Dwarves liked caves, lived in them. He'd heard stories of a fierce clan of Dwarves that lived under a lonely mountain in the east. Abéodan imagined a single mountain _would_ be lonely. All the mountains he knew of came in chains, rows, like a family. 

His horse stood still. Before the war, horses spooked, would not go near the entrance, would bolt if taken too close even to the opening. They sensed the ghosts, respected and feared them. Abéodan himself sat, looking at the symbols carved above the entrance of the cave. He was illiterate, as were the vast majority of his people, but he still knew what the markings meant. 

_The way is shut. These are the Paths of the Dead. No man shall pass and live._

Horses used to be terrified, but now? His horse stood still. Waiting. Waiting for his Rider to make up his mind. He could take the long way. Weeks and weeks of living in the open. If there were missives and messages in the cold of winter, chances are one would have to go around, unless the paths to the entrance was kept clear.

_Make up your mind, boy!_

Abéodan squared his shoulders, sat up straight in his saddle. Never let it be whispered his horse was braver than himself! 

He clicked his tongue and entered the dark path. 

****

tbc 


	35. GF 10 - Year's End

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this some years back and I KEEP forgetting to post it at New Years. It's close enough! Nyah!

****

The Diary of Aefre of the Wold 

****

GF10 – Year's End 

_During Chapter 47 – Rider of the Mark_

_What a year, what a year._

Gamling paced the floor, making the circle, yet again. His wife lay sleeping, still healing from the long painful birth of their child. That child lay sleeping in a crib, lovingly made by Willan, a Yule gift, which sat on Aefre’s side of the bed. 

_A year… what a year…_

The previous Yule, he paraded with the animals, noticing Aefre for the first time, leading her horse as well. It was a fleeting glimpse, but life took over again and she was swiftly forgotten, oh so he thought.

_A year… so much changed…_

Throughout the late winter, he saw her, flitting here and there, from the side of his eyes, like background noise. Until she presented herself in the baths that early spring evening.

_A year, has it only been a year?_

But in that year, Gandalf Stormcrow rid Théoden of his demon, making him whole. Gamling himself helped tossed Grima down the steps of the Great Plaza. He didn’t have his King long, sadly. It seemed Béma made him whole to die with dignity. But at least he went with dignity.

_How did a year…_

So much death this year. Théodred. Théoden; so many Rohirrim on the fields of Pelennor. So many empty marks, so much wailing. War. So much war and fighting, the likes Gamling prayed he never saw again. The world changed over night.

Rohan had a new king. 

So did Gondor.

A new age was being ushered in. The Elves were leaving.

_Well, some weren’t leaving. One married the King of Gondor._ With a silent snicker, Gamling recalled over-hearing two young noblewomen at Elessar’s wedding complaining _‘Who can compete with an elf? What do you think of the King of Rohan?’_

It didn’t matter. Éomer was already in love.

As was Éowyn. 

So was he.

Gamling’s peeled his clothes, the cold night air caressing his body. He made sure Leoma was tucked in and then restoked the fire. In a year, he went from captain to Marshal, from sleeping in front of the fire in the Great Hall to moving into private chambers, with two – count them – two rooms and a private privy with a brass tub! He crawled under the quilts next to his wife, before his member could shrink further from the cold. This past year, he saw Helm’s Deep go from impregnable to violated, damaged beyond belief. He saw Minas Tirith, not the Grand White City he heard about, but a tarnished, blackened jewel that had been set aflame.

There was a war; not just any war, but The War, one that would become legend and he was part of it. He had seen things; wretched things, beautiful things…

He fell in love, married, and was now a father. Something a year ago, he never thought of dreamed of, or even wanted, until he kissed her in the glade.

So long ago. 

_Not really. Not even a year.,i >_

_Aefre spooned against him, warming him in more ways than one. He wondered how long he would have to wait, should wait before he could make love to her. He thought to ask his mother, decided against it, thought about asking Eadignes, definitely decided against that, Beornia maybe? He’d never hear the end of it. Cynn! Aye, he’d ask Cynn…_

_In a year, he would be commander of a garrison, rumored at one time to be quite large and now in need of rebuilding. He would be Marshal of the Wold, again rebuilding the damage caused by a deranged human being. In a year, he would teach Léoma to walk, at some point teach her how to behave in a barn, around large animals. He would take her riding, whether it be on his horse or on his shoulders._

__Do not fear the wind._ _

_But that was next year._

_This year was a memory… but…_

__What a year… what a year…_ _


End file.
